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By and by mother whispered to her and said 
he was kidnabbed” 


[Page 154 



THE PENNY LANE BOOKS 


THE NEWCOMER IN 
PENNY LANE 


BY 

JOSLYN GRAY 

\N 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

E. C. CASWELL 

V 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


NEW YORK 


CHICAGO 


BOSTON 



Copyright, 1922, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 

Printed in the United States of America 
A 




ftUG 30 i922 


©01.4681563 

I 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘‘By and by mother whispered to her and said . . . he was 

kidnabbed’^ Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“I’m quarter past nine,” said Monica 14 

He opened his book and scarcely raised his eyes from it for 

half an hour no 


“Well, Joe, . . . why do you want to go to the city?” . 


204 


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THE NEWCOMER IN PENNY LANE 
















THE NEWCOMER 
IN PENNY LANE 


CHAPTER I 

J OE LANGLEY was small for his nine years and very 
thin. He was the thinnest child in the whole village, 
indeed, though he lived in what was probably the most 
comfortable home in Penny Lane or the South Hollow, 
the two parts of the village of Farleigh. He was pale, too, 
and his hair was almost colourless, so that from a little 
distance it looked as white as Grandpa Phillipses, and 
Grandpa was over ninety years old so that no one remem- 
bered how he had looked when he was a black-haired little 
boy. Joe’s lashes were white, too, his brows hardly showed 
at all, and though his eyes were of a fairly dark grey, they 
were too big for his little pointed face. And yet he wasn’t 
an unattractive child. Somehow the boys never thought of 
calling him Towhead; older people liked to look at him, 
and strangers always looked twice. That may have been 
partly because there was something quaint and old- 
fashioned about his clothes, but it was also because he 
was quaint and old-fashioned himself, and because there 
was something very appealing about his honest, thought- 
ful, serious, big-eyed little face. And people in Penny 
Lane or in the South Hollow who had no children of their 
own were more likely to envy Mr. and Mrs. Langley be- 
cause of little Joe than the parents of rosier, prettier and 
more cheerful looking children. 

1 


2 


THE NEWCOMER 


Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the grain merchant and his wife, 
were always sighing and saying that the Langleys were 
fortunate indeed in having the little boy. This was not 
because they lived next door to the parsonage and saw Joe 
oftener than any other child ; for the Lees who lived next 
on the other side of the Smiths, just beyond the lane 
which gave this part of the village its name, had seven 
healthy, handsome children, five of whom were always 
playing noisily about, while Joe was so quiet that one 
might not have guessed that there was a child in the 
parsonage at all. When he wasn^t out making pastoral 
calls with the minister or sitting in the living-room 
^Visiting” with his mother, or discussing the problems 
that troubled his small head with Big Bell, the house- 
keeper, in the kitchen, he was playing quietly by himself in 
the back yard or reading in his father^s study, curled up 
in a big chair. 

One afternoon of early summer when the Smiths came 
over to see their neighbours, Joe was sitting in the kitchen 
with Big Bell who was hulling strawberries for short-cake 
for tea. Joe had politely offered to help, but Bell said she 
was nearly through and anyhow she wasn’t pressed for 
time, and he had taken the big chair at the window and 
sat gazing through the trees at the new brick library build- 
ing which was to be dedicated early in the autumn. But 
when Bell glanced up as she finished her task, his eyes 
were fixed on her. 

“What, thinking again, Joey?” she asked a little 
anxiously, for she thought that was what made the child 
so thin. 

“Yes, Bell, but I have to. You see there are so many 
things to think about that even the longest day in the year 


IN PENNY LANE 


3 


seems too short for them all/* he replied in his old, serious 
way. “But I was thinking pleasant things, as it 
happened.’* 

“There’s a nice child. And what was it so pleasant 
you were after thinking of?” Bell asked. 

“Of you. Bell,” he said soberly. 

Bell smiled. 

“I suppose there might be worse things to think of, 
Joey, but so are there a-plenty of better ones,” she 
declared. “And when you are so put to it for time, why 
do you waste it on Big Bell?” 

Joe eyed her gravely for some moments. “I wish 
mother looked like you. Bell, dear,” he said suddenly and 
very surprisingly. 

“Why Joey Langley, whatever is that you are saying!” 
Bell exclaimed. 

“You are so big and so very pretty. Bell,” he said seri- 
ously. “Why, you’re as tall as father and ever so much 
wider, and you have such a lovely large face that one 
never loses one bit of your smile. And you haven’t any 
wrinkles, only little jolly ones beside of your eyes when 
you laugh.” 

Bell laughed now so heartily that her eyes hardly 
showed at all. She was well called Big Bell, for she was 
really a giantess. She was a bit taller than the minister, 
who was a six-footer, and she looked much taller, for Mr. 
Langley was slender and Bell was broad-shouldered and 
large. Her broad face was truly kind and pleasant, her 
little dark eyes twinkled merrily, and her cheeks were red 
and solid like rosy apples ; but no one had ever thought of 
her before as other than very plain, if not indeed ugly. 
And Bell laughed until the tears came to her eyes at the 


4 


THE NEWCOMER 


thought of Mrs. Langley’s dismay if she had overheard 
Joe’s -words. 

‘‘You’re used to your old Bell, Joey dear, and you’re 
fond of her, and she looks good to you, but the truth is, 
she’s as homely as they make ’em. Big Bell is,” she 
declared. “Your mother is a nice-looking lady, and if she 
has a few wrinkles beginning to show, you must remem- 
ber that she was an invalid for years and years and never 
left her room.” 

“I can’t remember things that happened before I was 
born, you know. Bell, but I can — I think consider would 
be the word, don’t you? I can consider,” returned Joe 
seriously. 

**Consider!*^ exclaimed Bell, “To be sure, that’s exactly 
what I meant, Joey.” 

“I’ll try to consider it, Bell,” Joe said. “I don’t really 
mind, you know. I think it was mostly for mother’s 
sake that I wished it. I thought perhaps if her smiles 
lasted longer, she’d be happier. She isn’t nearly so happy 
as you are.” 

“Joe Langley! Your mother is as happy as the day is 
long, and has been ever since you came to her,” Bell 
declared earnestly. “I won’t say that she was before 
that, nor that all those years spent alone in her room suf- 
fering with neuralagy didn’t leave their mark on her, 
but ” 

Bell paused and shook her heard wisely. 

“Cousin Ruddy’s mother hasn’t any marks on her nor 
even her grandmother Miller,” Joe observed. “My 
mother must have had a very hard life. Was she reared 
in extreme poverty like Lincoln?” 


IN PENNY LANE 


5 


Bell laughed. “Indeed and she wasn’t. Your mother’s 
people were Mays and well-off.” 

“Oh, Bell, tell me more about them, please,” the little 
boy begged. 

“They didn’t come from hereabouts, and they’re all 
dead long ago, and I don’t know anything about them but 
what your mother told me in the days when she didn’t 
speak to anyone but me for weeks at a time, and not many 
words to me,” responded Bell. “And besides, Mr. and 
Mrs. Smith just went through the garden, and they’ll be 
calling for you first thing. Come over here and let me 
see if you’re all right.” 

Joe went over to the table, but Bell couldn’t discover 
so much as a speck of dust on him. And though she 
washed her hands to straighten his red silk tie and to 
smooth his white collar down over his Holland linen 
jacket, it wasn’t necessary. 

“I almost wish I didn’t have to go in. Bell,” he said 
softly. 

Bell opened her eyes wide. 

“Why Joey ! I thought you liked Mr. and Mrs. Smith 
ever so much — especially him,” she said. 

“I do. But it rather worries me to have them so fond 
of me. They are always wishing they had a little boy 
just exactly like me. I worry partly because I am so 
sorry for them and partly because I can’t help being 
afraid that some day father will give me to them. He’s 
so generous, you know. Bell. He’s always giving things 
away. Mother says anyone has only to admire something 
that belongs to him and it’s theirs right away.” 

“There’s something in that, but your father’d never 


6 


THE NEWCOMER 


in all this world give you up, Joey,” Bell assured him 
warmly. “He’d give up everything he owned before he’d 
let anyone take you from him, — and then he wouldn’t.” 

With a deep sigh of relief, Joe started to leave the 
kitchen. But he paused with his hand on the door knob. 

“Bell, you don’t mind about what I said about remem- 
ber and consider, do you ?” he asked. 

“Bless your heart, no, child !” she cried warmly. “Bell 
just loves to have her own boy learn her to speak proper.” 

Joe sighed. But he hadn’t the heart to correct her 
again. 

“Everybody makes mistakes,” he observed. “One day 
when they were over here. Cousin Ruddy said to her 
father that Mr. Smith had a whole houseful of clocks, 
and he said ‘O Ruddy, a houseful?’ in the sorriest voice, 
so that it made us both feel as if she had told a lie. And 
not long after, I heard Uncle Reuben say to father that 
it was good of the Lees with their houseful of children 
to invite their cousins for all summer. And the Smiths 
have only seven children, and one of them a baby, and 
Mr. Smith has twelve clocks and eight that keep time.” 


CHAPTER II 


J OE sat quietly on Mr. Smith’s knee listening to the 
conversation going on about him. He had associated 
with older people so constantly that he was rather more 
at ease with them than with children, and he quickly 
grasped the subject that his father and mother and the 
Smiths had been discussing when he entered the living- 
room. Mrs. Smith was going away to visit her sister 
who lived on a large farm up in Vermont, and she wished 
her husband to go with her. Mr. Smith’s clerk could 
attend to the grain business for two weeks, and she had 
almost persuaded him to go. But now, at the last mo- 
ment, he was very reluctant. 

“The house isn’t so likely to burn down while we’re 
away as it is when we’re at home and have a fire in the 
kitchen range every day,” Mrs. Smith declared. 

“That may be,” admitted Mr. Smith. “At the same 
time, if it should catch fire, if I stayed at home I could 
save the — part of the property.” 

Joe was the only one to notice the slight pause he made 
and to understand that Mr. Smith was thinking of his 
beloved clocks. 

“You might, and then again, Smith, you might not,” 
observed Mr. Langley. “Your house would be very 
unlikely to catch fire during your absence unless it were 
struck by lightning. And in that case, you know, there’s 
no saving an3d:hing, so that you would be better off to 
be up in Vermont out of the way than to be on the spot 
and very likely risk your life for naught.” 

7 


8 


THE NEWCOMER 


Then for some minutes they discussed the question 
why a building struck by lightning and set afire should 
be consumed so much more rapidly than one that burned 
from another cause. Joe listened eagerly. He had never 
heard the fact mentioned before. They spoke of houses 
and barns about Farleigh which had been struck in past 
storms, and Mrs. Smith told about a terrible tempest up 
in Vermont when she was a girl during which the largest 
barn in the county had burned with a blaze that had been 
visible forty miles away. 

Mr. Smith, who wasn’t listening very attentively, 
probably because he had heard his wife describe the scene 
more than once before, waited almost impatiently for her 
to finish and then remarked that he had always thought 
he should like to see a storm at sea from the deck of a 
vessel. Joe looked at him a bit anxiously. He couldn’t 
help wishing they had settled the question of the journey 
to Vermont before they began talking about thunder 
storms. It looked as if they had forgotten all about it, 
and if they went home without getting his father’s ad- 
vice, Joe was sure they would be very sorry. But he 
couldn’t remind them without interrupting, and it would 
be shocking indeed for the minister’s little boy to inter- 
rupt his father’s callers. 

But Mrs. Smith didn’t mind interrupting her own hus- 
band, and presently she did so and reminded him that he 
hadn’t had a vacation for ten years. 

“Why should I ?’’ demanded Mr. Smith. “People liv- 
ing in country villages don’t need vacations. Vacations 
are for city dwellers. It’s only since the cities have grown 
up there’s been any such thing as vacations, anyway. The 


IN PENNY LANE 9 

air in Farleigh is just as good as it is up in Vermont. 
Don’t you call it so, Mr. Langley?” 

‘Tarleigh can’t be beaten, nor Farleigh folk,” Mr. 
Langley agreed smiling. “Nevertheless, the air seems 
better than ever and the people more wonderful when 
one comes back after an absence. And it’s good for us 
all to see other people and other ways of living. And 
it’s good for us just to look from a car window for two, 
three or four hours at a time in order to stretch our lazy 
imaginations and realise once in a while how big the 
world is, and how many villages and cities and rivers 
and valleys and men and women and children and busi- 
nesses and occupations there are beyond the limits of 
Penny Lane and the South Hollow.” 

Mr. Smith’s face had brightened. 

“Oh, I’d like the journey first rate, so far as that goes,” 
he admitted. “And I don’t know as I’d mind staying 
overnight and looking over the farm and the stock. But 
that wouldn’t satisfy Clara. Nothing short of a fort- 
night would satisfy her.” 

“You would hardly know what would satisfy yourself 
until you tried. Why don’t you start out without setting 
any limit to your visit?” suggested Mr. Langley. “Go 
for overnight, if you like, but take enough clothes along 
so that if you decide to stay longer it will be easy to 
do so.” 

Now Mr. Smith looked actually cheerful. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Mr. Langley,” he said, and 
turned to his wife to see how she took it. She looked 
at him sharply. 

“Would you stay two weeks if you really liked it and 
wanted to. Will ?” she asked. 


10 


THE NEWCOMER 


His face grew sober. *T*d stay a week. I don’t know 
about two,” he replied. 

Joe pressed his arm to get his attention. 

‘T’ll wind your clocks for you, Mr. Smith, if that’s 
why you don’t want to stay away longer,” he offered. 

Everyone laughed and Mr. Smith choked. Now the 
real reason for Mr. Smith’s reluctance was out. 

“Well, there now; I never thought of that!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Smith, looking at Mrs. Langley in despair. “Did 
you ever in your life hear of such a man! You might 
understand it, perhaps, if they were new clocks. But the 
very newest is fifty years old, and one was Will’s grand- 
father’s; and those he got at auctions might easily have 
been his great-grandmother’s.” 

“If they were new. I’d as lief go away for all summer,” 
remarked Mr. Smith loftily. 

“And if you’ll believe me, only one out of the twelve 
strikes right,” added Mrs. Smith triumphantly. “One 
doesn’t go at all, and seven of them were so perfectly 
crazy that I finally managed to persuade him not to wind 
the striking side at all. And of the four that go and 
strike both, only one can be depended on to strike right. 
And as that one gains anywhere from twenty to fifty 
minutes a day, we have to depend in the daytime on a 
clock that strikes hours ahead or behind and at night listen 
to the one that strikes right and guess how many minutes 
to take away.” 

“If you happened to have a little boy, it would be good 
practice in subtraction for him,” observed Joe. “And I 
suppose if he understood that clocks have no souls, their 
untruthfulness wouldn’t make any great difference.” 

“Wasn’t that sweet of little Joe?” Mrs. Smith said to 


IN PENNY LANE 


11 


her husband as they talked it over at home. They had 
decided to go to Vermont for a fortnight, allowing all the 
eleven clocks to run down. Mr. Langley had been quite 
willing to wind them, but he had suggested that they 
might be all the better for a rest and had advised letting 
them run down rather than stopping them. 

“Yes, he is certainly a nice little chap,’’ Mr. Smith 
replied with a sigh. 

Mrs. Smith sighed too. “And only to think that he 
might have been ours at this very minute,” she said. 

“Oh, Clara, I hardly think so. I think you’re wrong 
about that,” he said. 

“No, Will, you have forgotten; but as a matter of fact 
Mrs. Langley held off a long time about taking a baby. 
The Millers didn’t feel like keeping him and I am sure 
if we had made an effort we might have had him.” 

“I don’t believe Anna Miller would have let him go 
out of the house excepting to the parsonage,” declared 
Mr. Smith. “And after all, Clara, you wouldn’t have 
had Mr. Langley lose the comfort the child has been to 
him, would you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” she agreed. “But Mrs. Langley, 
good as she is, is odd and too old-fashioned in her notions 
to know how to bring up a child. She dresses Joe just 
as little boys dressed before her illness. And that must 
be as much as thirty years ago.” 

“Just the same, it suits little Joe to a T, for he’s an 
old-fashioned little boy,” he rejoined. 

“Of course he’s old-fashioned, but it’s for the same 
reason that his clothes are,” she declared. 

“Would you change him, Clara? Would you like him 


12 


THE NEWCOMER 


better, for instance, if he was like George Lee or even 
Buddy Cartwright? Own up, Clara; when you were 
wishing he were ours, weren’t you thinking of him as he 
is now instead of as he would have been if we had had 
him from his babyhood?” 

‘Terhaps I was,” she admitted. ‘‘And certainly I 
wouldn’t change him. I shouldn’t want all children like 
him, of course, but if I had had a little boy, I should have 
wanted him to be just like little Joe. His own parents 
must have been fine people. I shouldn’t wonder if his 
father was a poet. Joe’s eyes are so big and full of 
wonderment and he looks so sad at times.” 

“Well, nobody about here knows anything about his 
parents excepting the Millers, and they never let on,” he 
said. “But I don’t know as anyone ever inquires. Near- 
ly everyone in Farleigh thinks of Joe as the Langleys’ 
own child. The children and the younger married people 
don’t know the difference and the older ones have mostly 
forgotten.” 

“Well, Joe was certainly bright about those clocks,” 
remarked Mrs. Smith, smiling. “And while I think of 
it. Will, we must get up an hour earlier the day we go. 
But that doesn’t mean two hours or even an hour and a 
half. We’ll get up by your watch.” 

“Just as you say, Clara,” he returned meekly. 


CHAPTER III 


O N the Wednesday morning following his arrival at 
the big Vermont farm-house, Mr. Smith was wan- 
dering rather aimlessly about a great meadow which lay 
between the corn field and a pine grove. The grass had 
been cut and the hay dried and put into the barns a week 
before, and though it was early the hot sun had already 
dried the dew. His hat was pulled down over his eyes 
and his head bent. A little girl in an adjoining meadow 
belonging to another farm, who was gazing at him 
through the fence, thought he was looking at his boots. 
He made her think of Sammy Sherman when he went 
out in his new shoes the morning after his arrival at 
Greenmeadow Farm, where she was staying. But though 
this gentleman's shoes were elegant and had a fine polish, 
he looked as if he could put his hand right into his pocket 
at any moment and buy two new pairs ; and, anyhow, he 
was old enough to know that such short grass wouldn't 
hold the dew long after the sun had risen. She herself 
had learned that the day after she came to the country. 

Then, as she saw that he wasn’t looking at his feet at 
all, she called out cheerfully: ^‘Lost something. Mister?" 

Mr. Smith started. He looked up quickly to see a little 
girl climbing to the top rail of the fence and looking 
down on him in friendly manner. She was a dark-eyed, 
bright-looking child, with thick brown hair hanging about 
a sharp but pretty little face. Her eager expression made 
him feel cheerful in a twinkling. 

13 


14 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Why, it’s a little girl!” he cried, pulling off his hat 
as if she were a grown lady. “Bless me, I didn’t know 
that there was a child within six miles of this farm. I 
think we’re just six miles from the village.” 

“There’s ten of ’em at Greenmeadow, five boys and 
four more girls besides me,” she informed him. “But 
have you really lost something?” 

“Why, no, not exactly,” replied Mr. Smith. 

The little girl knit her dark brows and gazed at him in 
perplexity. 

“I should think you had lost something or else you 
hadn’t,” she said in a puzzled voice. “I don’t see howl 
there could be anything in between. But perhaps you 
are just trying to be polite and mean that you have lost 
something but don’t want me to feel troubled about it. 
But I don’t mind at all, because I’m good at finding things 
and I was going to offer to look for it.” 

“Thank you ; it’s very kind of you, and I daresay you 
can help, though it’s my peace of mind that’s lost. That’s 
why I spoke so uncertainly,” he explained. “But I am 
feeling better already because of the sound of a human 
voice and the sight of a friendly face. Suppose you 
come over and sit on the wall yonder with me, while I 
tell you all about it.” 

“I’d love to,” the little girl cried. And he helped her 
over the fence. As they crossed the field to the wall, he 
told her his name and said that he and Mrs. Smith were 
staying at the big red farm-house out of sight under the 
hill. Then he asked her her name. She laughed as she 
told him it was Monica Smith. 

“I wish our names was both something different like — 
like Rockfellow or Peerpoint Morgan, so that we would 



“I’m quarter past nine,” said Monica 



IN PENNY LANE 


15 


know right off that we were long-lost relations,” she said. 

“Smith doesn’t give one much hope, does it?” he said. 
“But some new people must have moved in at Green- 
meadow. The Putnams had no children.” 

“No, sir, they are there still. I’m just staying there.” 

“Oh, a summer boarder? Then the other children 
aren’t your brothers and sisters?” 

“No, sir, they’re not. They are — summer boarders, 
too,” replied the little girl. And she looked so ill at ease 
that Mr. Smith thought perhaps the other children were 
disagreeable and did not ask about them. 

“I think you must be about the age of my little friend 
and neighbour at home,” he remarked. “Joe is just nine.” 

“I’m quarter past nine,” said Monica. And Mr. Smith 
was reminded of his clocks. 

“Oh, I haven’t told you why I needed cheering up,” he 
remarked. “What do you think? I came away from 
home last Saturday and left twelve clocks, eleven of 
which keep time. Two of them would have stopped Sun- 
day,-— one has to be wound night and morning to be sure 
of it. But the other nine will be running today — at this 
very minute. Three of them will be way behind time and 
two way ahead, and only one will be with my watch — or 
very nearly. What makes me feel so badly is that I 
usually wind these nine every Wednesday. They are 
eight-day clocks, and I suppose I really needn’t do it; 
but they’re old and it seems to me less strain on them. 
I seemed to feel them calling me home until you appeared 
and I forgot all about them.” 

“You won’t go, will you?” she asked wistfully, for 
Monica thought Mr. Smith the nicest man she had ever 
seen. 


16 


THE NEWCOMER 


‘‘No, Monica, I suppose not, for I really agreed to stay 
a fortnight. There’s a week and a half more.” 

‘T wish I had even a week more. I have to go back 
Monday morning,” Monica remarked ruefully, her eyes 
on the wet toes of her ankle ties. 

“Where do you live?” he asked. 

“N’Yawk,” she said. 

“Not New York City?” he asked. 

Monica nodded. Mr. Smith looked hard at her. Her 
blue frock seemed to him very fine. He believed those 
white decorations on it must be embroidery or Battenburg 
or something of the sort, and her slippers looked like 
those which children have for dancing school. She 
seemed to be as fine as mothers in Farleigh made their 
little girls for Sunday school or Memorial Day exercises. 
And the fact that she was a summer boarder counted for 
something. He couldn’t understand her parents taking 
her back to the hot city in July, particularly since she was 
so thin as to look pinched. 

She was thinking about the clocks. “Wouldn’t the 
janitor wind ’em up, or dassn’t you trust him?” she asked. 

Mr. Smith smiled. 

“There is no janitor. I live in a village not a great deal 
larger than the village down yonder,” he explained. “I 
have a neighbour who would have wound the clocks, but 
I rather hated to bother him. The night before we came 
away, I decided to stop them all instead of letting them 
run down, but Mrs. Smith wouldn’t let me.” 

“Oh, she’s boss, is she?” the little girl asked shrewdly. 

“I couldn’t very well help it in this case,” replied Mr. 
Smith, “for the the joke was on me.” 


IN PENNY LANE 17 

*‘Oh, what do you mean ? Please tell me/^ cried Monica 
eagerly. 

‘‘Very well. It has an amusing side, as I see now. But 
Monica, if you are going away so soon, you don’t want 
to be wasting time sitting here on the wall. How would 
you like to go down to the sheep pasture with me and 
see the little lambs? It’s a good bit of a way, but we can 
take our time,” he proposed. 

Monica sprang to her feet and clapped her hands with 
delight. Mr. Smith remembered to ask her if she wished 
to get her mother’s permission first. 

“I haven’t any mother. But it’s all right. I can go,” 
she said. 

“All right. I want you to meet Mrs. Smith, my boss, 
Monica, and I want her to see you. We’ll stop at the 
house and get her to go along with us. But first I must 
tell you about the clocks,” he said. “We had to catch an 
early train on Saturday and planned to get up an hour 
earlier. I woke suddenly out of sound sleep just as one 
of the clocks was striking, and I counted five. It seemed 
dark for five, but I struck a match and looked at my 
watch which seemed also to say five, and then I heard rain 
pouring down and understood why it was unusually dark. 
I built the fire and called Mrs. Smith. She said it seemed 
as if she had just got to bed, but she hopped right out and 
got breakfast ready by lamplight. Just as we were sitting 
down to eat, she recollected something she had forgotten 
to put in her traveling bag, and went out into the entry 
to put it in. When she came back she said it was pitch 
dark and she was sure we were going to have a terrible 
thunder storm. I said she must remember that it was 
only five o’clock and she reminded me that it was now five 


18 


THE NEWCOMER 


minutes past six. I told her we would wait until Monday 
if it began to thunder, and went on eating until suddenly 
Mrs. Smith screamed. I thought the house was afire 
surely until she bade me look at the clock — pointing to the 
one that keeps correct time. I pulled out my watch to be 
sure, and what time do you think it was?” 

''Not too late for the train?” cried Monica anxiously. 

"My dear child, it was half past one. Half past one 
in the morning, and there we were dressed to travel, with 
our breakfast almost half eaten ! It would have been all 
eaten but neither of us seemed to have any appetite.” 

He smiled. "Here’s how I figure it out. Either that 
clock struck twelve — it had lost half an hour — and I 
woke only in time to hear the last five strokes, or one of 
the other clocks really struck five. My watch must have 
been twenty-five minutes past twelve, which, at a quick 
glance by the flash of a match, seemed to be five. Look, 
Monica.” 

He drew out his watch and turned the hands until they 
stood at twenty-five minutes past twelve, and Monica 
laughed gleefully as she saw how easy it would be to 
mistake the hour for five. 

"What did you do then?” she asked eagerly. 

"We put the coffee on the back of the stove and the 
breakfast in the oven and Mrs. Smith lay down on the 
parlour sofa and I on the dining-room couch. The next 
I knew, the sun was streaming into the window and Mrs. 
Smith was shaking me. It was a quarter before seven 
and breakfast was again on the table. And that was 
why when Mrs. Smith said we would let the clocks run 
down, and she didn’t care whether ten of them ever 
started again, I had nothing to say.” 


CHAPTER IV 


“/^LARA, I want to introduce you to a friend I have 
just made/’ said Mr. Smith as he led the little girl 
up to his wife, who sat on the large, comfortable verandah 
shelling peas. ‘‘Mrs. Smith, allow me to present Miss 
Monica Smith.” 

“There are always Smiths about, but how very nice to 
have such an attractive name as Monica to go with it,” 
said Mrs. Smith pleasantly, taking the little girl’s hand 
and drawing her to a place beside her on the bench. 
“Here’s poor Mr. Smith with a first name as common as 
his last. He’s William Smith — plain William.” 

“He doesn’t look plain. He looks rich and — sporty/* 
said Monica. 

The Smiths laughed. 

“I am afraid I am neither rich nor sporty,” Mr. Smith 
confessed. “Mrs. Smith and I are both plain people, if 
her name is Clara and was Clara Carpenter ; and we are 
only visiting our relations.” 

He turned to his wife. “Monica Smith is a summer 
boarder at Greenmeadow farm, you see.” 

“Dear me, I never knew the Putnams to take summer 
boarders before,” remarked Mrs. Smith in some surprise. 
For they were wealthy people who did not need money 
and had never seemed anxious to gain any more. But 
the child had nothing to say and she took up her task 
again. 

“Can I help shuck ’em?” Monica asked. And Mr. 

19 


20 


THE NEWCOMER 


Smith said they would all work as fast as they could 
and then they would go to see the lambs. 

They were soon through. Mr. Smith took the peas 
in and offered to fetch Mrs. Smith’s hat, but she said 
she would get it herself. She told Monica that he would 
be as likely to bring her work-basket or her best toque 
as her garden hat, and it would save time to go upstairs 
herself. Monica went with her. She glanced admiringly 
about the big, cool, pretty bed-chamber and watched Mrs. 
Smith as she washed her hands, removed her apron and 
put on her shade hat. Mrs. Smith was as pretty and as 
rosy and looked almost as young as the youngest Miss 
Putnam, and while both had brown eyes, Mrs. Smith’s 
were far kinder. 

‘‘Have you and Mr. Smith any little boys and girls?” 
she asked. 

“No, my dear, I am sorry to say we haven’t,” replied 
Mrs. Smith. 

“Like the kings and queens in fairy stories ? It seems 
a pity, for they would love you and Mr. Smith both. Of 
course I don’t know you so very well yet, but you seem 
to have nice ways with children,” Monica observed. 

Mrs. Smith kissed her and they went down and joined 
Mr. Smith. The sheep pasture was on a distant part of 
the farm, removed as far as possible from the highway 
which led past it, in order that dogs should not get at 
the sheep. But the walk was very pleasant, and even if 
it hadn’t been, they would have been well rewarded by 
the sight of the lambs. The sheep had lately been shorn 
and, though clean, were sorry-looking creatures. But 
they scarcely lifted their heads from their grazing and 
the lambs were everywhere. There were forty of them, 


IN PENNY LANE 


21 


thirty-nine with long white wool and one with jet black, 
and all with round, innocent little faces. They were 
frisking and gamboling in the sunshine as if they too had 
only four more days in the country and must make the 
most of them. 

They sat on the stone wall watching them, and though 
the little creatures only did the same thing over and over, 
it was somehow very hard to leave them, and they lin- 
gered so long that Mrs. Smith was afraid Monica would 
be late for dinner. They made straight for the highway 
which passes Greenmeadow Farm and which would take 
Monica back more quickly than the roundabout but 
pleasanter way they had come. From the main highway, 
a road wound uphill to the house. It was shady and not 
dusty, and reaching it the three walked abreast hand in 
hand, Monica between the others. 

“Why, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Monica Smith, 
isn’t it?” she cried. “It’s just exactly as if it was true!” 

As they stopped at the gate of the fence enclosing the 
flower garden, she looked up wistfully into Mrs. Smith’s 
face. 

“Can I tell them it’s my aunt and uncle — the other 
children?” she asked eagerly. 

“Oh, my dear. I’m afraid you can’t. It wouldn’t be 
true, you see,” said Mrs. Smith gently. 

“But it might be, both names being Smith. And it 
would sound true. If anyone says, ‘Who were those 
swells you were walking with?’ couldn’t I just say ‘Mr. 
and Mrs. Smith, my Aunt Clara and Uncle Will’ ?” 

Mr. Smith turned away his head and smiled. Mrs. 
Smith shook her head. 

“No, Monica, dear, it wouldn’t be right. I wish it 


22 


THE NEWCOMER 


were true, but it isn’t and it would spoil all our nice morn- 
ing if at the end of it you were to say something untrue,” 
she said. *'But you can say that we are friends of yours 
and that we hope to see you every day while you’re here.” 

‘‘All right,” agreed Monica bravely. Mrs. Smith kissed 
her and Mr. Smith took her hand and patted her shoul- 
der, and she was off. The Smiths turned and walked 
down the hill. Just before they reached the highway, 
they heard someone running and, turning, saw Monica 
flying down the hill towards them. 

“I hope I haven’t spoiled our nice morning, but I had 
already said one thing that wasn’t true,” she said breath- 
lessly the moment she reached them. “I’m not a summer 
boarder at all. I’m just a fresh-air child. I was sent up 
from N’Yawk with a bunch of poor children by a mis- 
sionary lady. I’m sorry I said it and — maybe I’d better 
not tell the others now that you are my friends, and — I 
guess you don’t want to see me even once more!” 

“Indeed we do!” cried Mrs. Smith warmly. “But I 
am very glad you told us, Monica, dear. Come over this 
afternoon if you can, and if there’s anything more to say, 
we’ll say it then, for you mustn’t be late to dinner.” 


CHAPTER V 


W HEN Mr. and Mrs. Smith returned to Penny Lane, 
they brought with them a little girl whom they had 
adopted. Everyone in the village was very much sur- 
prised. People said they had no idea that that was what 
the Smiths went away for. But hardly anyone had 
known that they were going away. They agreed, how- 
ever, that it was all because of Mr. Smith's queerness. 
For there was certainly something odd about a man with 
twelve clocks which strike at eleven different intervals of 
the hour, so that visiting his house might make one think 
of going to the zoo or to a bird shop in the city. 

As it happened, Mr. and Mrs. Smith themselves were 
almost as surprised as anyone else in Farleigh. It hardly 
seemed possible to them, as they sat together, with the 
clocks ticking a noisy welcome like so many crickets, on 
the night of their return home, that a dark-eyed little girl 
who was henceforth their daughter was asleep in the great 
bed in the guest-chamber upstairs. 

Both Mr. and Mrs. Smith had been charmed with 
Monica, and they had hoped that they might keep her at 
the farm with them for another week. Upon inquiry, 
they had learned that Miss Field, the lady who had made 
the arrangements for bringing the children to the country 
for a fortnight, was herself staying with her mother 
in the village in the valley below. They went down to 
see her and learned that Monica was an orphan and that 
neighbours of Miss Field's mother were thinking of adopt- 
23 


24 


THE NEWCOMER 


ing either her or an older girl who had been staying 
with them. Mr. and Mrs. Smith said that they would 
be only too glad to take Monica themselves in case the 
other family preferred the other girl, and they felt as 
if they were holding their breaths while they waited for 
them to make the choice. The fact was that Monica was 
a prettier, more engaging child than the other, and if the 
Vermont people hadn’t known that the Smiths wanted her 
they would have chosen her. But they were attached to 
the girl who had been with them, and if they took her, 
both orphans would have good homes; and so they gave 
up Monica. Mr. Smith went on to New York and settled 
the legal details. There was no difficulty, and everything 
was arranged so speedily that they were back in Penny 
Lane two weeks from the day they left. And they sur- 
prised everybody, including the minister and his wife and 
Big Bell and Little Joe, by appearing at church Sunday 
morning with a dark-eyed, picturesque little girl between 
them. 

They explained to their neighbors, the Langleys, how 
it had all come about, but others in the village knew only 
that they had adopted a little girl. Most people supposed 
Monica to be the daughter of friends of theirs, for she 
seemed like a child who had had a careful upbringing in a 
good home. As a matter of fact, Monica had had scarcely 
any upbringing at all. Her parents had been poor and both 
had worked, leaving her alone in their home of two 
rooms. Both were killed in an accident when she was 
£ve, and some people in the same tenement had taken 
the child in. They were nearly as poor, but Monica had 
more than paid for the food and shelter she got by taking 
care of babies while the mother went out working or sat 


IN PENNY LANE 


25 


on the steps gossiping with other women of the tenement. 
But the child was bright and quick and eager, and she 
had made the most of such irregular attendance at school 
as she could manage. She had learned rapidly and 
studied hard and she had endeavoured to imitate the man- 
ners and ways of her teachers, so that when she was sent 
into the country she was quite different from the other 
children who went to Greenmeadow. She was very warm- 
hearted and loved her foster-father and mother from the 
very first and was very eager to follow any suggestions 
they made. She watched everyone and imitated those she 
admired, and by the time school opened in September, she 
might easily have passed as the real daughter of the 
Smiths who had grown up in their comfortable home in 
the pretty village. 

Mr. and Mrs. Smith were happier than they had ever 
been before. They took great pleasure together in fitting 
up a bedroom for Monica, and Mrs. Smith got much 
quiet enjoyment in making her a complete wardrobe. Mr. 
Smith was very much interested in the frocks and looked 
eagerly for each new one, but he was always disappointed 
in it. It seemed to him that his wife dressed the little 
girl altogether too plainly. One day when he was going 
to drive over to Wenham, the nearest large town, he asked 
his wife if he should bring home material for one or two 
more frocks for Monica. 

'‘But Will, she doesn’t need any more now, — indeed, 
I doubt if she needs as many as she has,” Mrs. Smith 
returned in some surprise. ‘T shan’t make anything more 
until I make her winter things, and it’s rather early to 
buy wool now on account of moths.” 

‘T might find something all made. I suppose it 


26 


THE NEWCOMER 


wouldn’t do any harm for her to have one extra — some- 
thing sort of gay?” he asked. 

‘'Gay !” she exclaimed. "Why, Will Smith, where are 
your eyes? Monica has one rose-coloured frock, and a 
yellow one and a green and white one, and a plaid ging- 
ham, besides all the quieter ones. What do you mean by 
gay? Suppose you tell us what you have in mind?” 

Mr. Smith hesitated. What he had in mind was a 
frock of bright scarlet with gay figures on it — ^parrots 
or morning-glories. The figures would be green if they 
were parrots and blue-and- white if they were morning- 
glories, and there would be a white lace collar fastened 
with a bright bow and a striped sash with fringed ends. 
But he didn’t like the twinkle in Mrs. Smith’s eyes, and 
so he wouldn’t tell her. 

"Oh, I thought something with a bit more colour in it 
that wouldn’t look all faded out by the time school begins 
would be nice,” he remarked loftily. 

"Well, what particular colour had you in mind?” Mrs. 
Smith asked. 

The clock on the stairs in the entry began to strike and 
saved him the trouble of answering. Mr. Smith, Mrs. 
Smith and Monica forgot everything and began to count 
the strokes. For Mrs. Smith had declared that it struck 
thirteen at six o’clock, and Mr. Smith had said it wasn’t 
possible. A clock may strike twenty- four, he said, but 
never thirteen. 

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 
ten, ’leven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” 
counted Monica aloud and then stopped. The clock went 
on, but she had started with only breath for twelve and 
nearly choked at sixteen. She began again on twenty- 


IN PENNY LANE 


27 


five but stopped again at forty, not so much because she 
was out of breath as that she was scared. Still the clock 
went on. The three of them stood in the entry motion- 
less, gazing spellbound upon the clock which pealed away 
cheerfully. 

They all started violently as someone knocked at the 
side door. Mrs. Smith went to answer it. When she 
returned to the living-room, Mr. Smith and Monica were 
just coming from the entry. 

‘Tt was Big Bell,’’ she explained. *'She thought some- 
thing had happened and that we were ringing the table 
bell for help. Has that awful clock got through yet?” 

‘‘Yes, Clara ; I shouldn’t wonder if she was through for 
good and all,” replied Mr. Smith wearily. “The weight 
is down on the bottom and I rather think I’ll leave it 
there.” 

“How many did it get up to ?” she asked. Mr. Smith 
did not answer, but Monica eagerly cried out, “Seventy- 
eight !” 

“By the way, what were we talking about? I don’t 
think we had finished,” observed Mr. Smith, who felt 
tenderly towards his clocks and didn’t like them to be sub- 
jected to ridicule or even unpleasant discussion. 

“You were speaking of going to Wenham and doing 
some shopping. I wouldn’t trust you to pick out material 
for clothes, but I’ll give you an errand,” said his wife, 
rather severely. “Go into Simpson’s and get me a pretty 
little clock. I want one that is new and looks new. Don’t 
go to getting any imitations of grandfather clocks or 
banjo clocks or anything of the sort. I want a nice, pretty 
little clock that will stand on the mantel and keep time 
like a watch. And if it strikes, let it be a mild, gentle bell 


28 


THE NEWCOMER 


that doesn’t remind one of a fire alarm or a fish horn. I 
really think you would owe me one now, even if you 
hadn’t gotten me out of bed that morning at half-past 
twelve, don’t you?” 

“It may be,” replied Mr. Smith meekly, and turned to 
Monica. 

“You would hardly think, from your mother’s shock- 
ing taste in clocks, that she had been married to me for 
fifteen years, would you?” he asked. “But I suppose it’s 
like colour-blindness and she’s not responsible. Do you 
want to ride over with me, Monica, and help me pick out 
a clock that will probably set all my teeth on edge?” 

“Yes, indeed, father!” cried Monica eagerly, “only I 
want to help mother with the dishes first, for I haven’t 
missed once.” 

“Very well. And meantime I’ll run over to the Lang- 
leys and see if Joe can go along, too. There’s an older, 
wiser head on his shoulders than on either of ours, 
Monica.” 


CHAPTER VI 


M onica smith Uked everyone she met in Far- 
leigh, and before school began she had met almost 
everyone. But among the children she had decided 
preferences. She liked all the Lees who lived in the big 
house beyond the lane, though she was less attracted to 
Esther, who was nearest her age, than to little Ruth, who 
was seven. But they were unusually strong, vigorous chil- 
dren who wanted to play outdoor games from morning 
until night ; and Monica, who had never had time to play, 
did not fall into the habit readily and tired so easily that 
Mrs. Smith didn’t allow her to stay at the Lees more 
than an hour at a time. She couldn’t help admiring 
Ruddy Cartwright, whose parents spent the summer at 
the South Hollow, but though Monica was not shy nor 
timid, she was almost afraid of Ruddy. She had heard 
her father refer to Ruddy as a “holy terror,” and it was 
plain that other grown people and all the children in the 
village thought of her in very much the same way. It 
was generally considered fortunate that the child was only 
a summer resident and that her tv/in brother Buddy occu- 
pied the greater part of her time. 

But best of all, Monica liked her neighbour, Joe Lang- 
ley, and she was never so happy as with him. And her 
regard for older people followed Joe’s almost exactly. 
After her father and mother, Monica, too, liked Joe’s 
father better than any grown person, and she, too, liked 
next Anna Miller, a beautiful young lady who lived in the 
29 


30 


THE NEWCOMER 


South Hollow and stayed in the summer with her sister, 
Mrs. Cartwright, Ruddy’s mother. Big Bell came next 
to Anna Miller, being really in almost the same place in 
their affections. After her, Joe’s mother came next in 
his affections, and Monica put her in the same niche in 
hers, also, though she didn’t care warmly for her; and 
after she met Mr. Miller, Anna’s father and Ruddy’s 
grandfather (though he didn’t look in the least like a 
grandfather), she ousted Mrs. Langley secretly and gave 
Mr. Miller her place. 

Joe had associated mostly with older people and did not 
care for vigorous games, though he played them at school. 
But he and Monica had very pleasant ways of passing 
the hours they spent together every day. They played 
church and school, cracked stones and had a jeweler’s 
shop, or traveled through strange lands and saw strange 
people the geography told about. And when it rained 
they read aloud from his beautiful books. Joe had almost 
as many books now as there were in his father’s library, 
it seemed to Monica. This was largely because Joe was 
the minister’s son. Everyone liked Mr. Langley and 
longed to please him. And at Christmas time nearly every- 
one in the parish gave Joe a beautiful book that Mr. Lang- 
ley couldn’t help admiring. Besides this. Colonel Wads- 
worth, the gentleman who had given the library to Far- 
leigh, had sent the little boy several sets of books in many 
volumes from New York. 

When they read aloud, they liked to wait until that part 
of the afternoon when Bell was at leisure, for she loved 
to listen. They would sit in the large, pleasant kitchen 
on the comfortable chintz-covered sofa, or in the garden, 
and Bell always seemed one of themselves, as young as 


IN PENNY LANE 


31 


either of them. And after a little, Monica, who had said 
‘Not so very’ when Joe had asked her, directly after she 
had seen Bell, if she didn’t think Bell was pretty, began 
to think she was nearly as pretty as Anna Miller, who was 
the most beautiful person she had ever seen. 

But Joe’s company was not always to be had. He 
usually went out with his father four afternoons a week, 
and often in the morning his mother wanted him with 
her. After a little, Monica began to resent the fact that 
Joe was always eager to go with his father, for the calls 
they made must be tiresome for a little boy and he and 
she had so little chance to play together. 

One morning of the week before school was to begin, 
she proposed that they should cover a section of the hard 
dirt of the croquet ground in the Smiths’ side yard with 
some sand the masons had left and draw a map of New 
England on it with pointed sticks. 

“Big Bell will give us some sticks that come out of 
roasts and we’ll work all afternoon on it and show it to 
our fathers and mothers at night. And it will be still 
better for Bell, for then we can make her understand 
where Vermont is,” she said eagerly. 

“But Monica, I’m going out with father this after- 
noon,” said Joe. 

“But today isn’t Monday, so you aren’t going to Wen- 
ham for a jolly time. Prob’ly your father’s just going 
over to the Hollow. Wouldn’t you a lot drather stay and 
do this ? It’s so much more exciting. And — and perhaps 
Anna Miller would come to see the map and like it. 
Won’t you stay with me just this once, Joey?” 

“No, Monica, I think I’ll go with father,” he said. 

“But you’d really drather stay here?” she asked. 


32 


THE NEWCOMER 


“I would a little rather go with father, Monica, he 
said gently. 

Monica knew that he spoke the truth, and for the first 
time since she had known Joe she felt cross. 

'Wou don’t have to be with your father all the time, 
even if you do love him,” she declared. “And he’d like 
you just as well even if you weren’t always so good. 
Ruddy Cartwright runs out her tongue to her father and 
when he’s out of sight does just what he tells her not to. 
And yet he loves her. Mother says he does, and he was 
scared to pieces the day she fell out of the hay loft and 
ran and picked her up and hugged her and kissed her. 
And he told her not to get up there, too.” 

Joe sighed. “If I stayed at home, I shouldn’t have the 
heart to make the map,” he said. “I would be all the 
while thinking how lonesome father would be, and my 
fingers would lose their cunning.” 

Monica looked sharply at his fingers. Then she 
shrugged her shoulders. 

“I leave my father every day, even when he’s at home. 
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love him. Don’t you 
think I love him just as much as you do yours, Joe Lang- 
ley?” she demanded. 

Joe didn’t answer. Monica stamped her foot. 

“Joe, tell me this minute!” she cried. “Don’t I love 
mine as well as you do yours?” 

“Why, Monica! How could you?” he asked gently. 

“How could I? What do you mean, Joe Langley?” 

“You haven’t known him so long as I have father, and 
then ” 

The little boy stopped and dug the toe of his slipper 


IN PENNY LANE 33 

into the soft earth of the flower bed at the edge of the 
path. 

‘‘Besides what?’' she demanded fiercely. 

“He isn’t — your very own father,” he said in a low 
voice. 

“That doesn’t make one mite of difference,” she cried, 
her dark eyes flashing. 

Joe said nothing and she challenged him again. 

“It doesn’t make any difference, does it?” she asked. 

“I thought it might, but perhaps I don’t know,” he 
said. “Shall we go ask Bell ?” 

“No, indeed,” said Monica, hesitated, and then added : 
“Come back in the garden and I’ll tell you a secret.” 

They went back to the corner of the brick wall. 

“Promise first not to tell. Cross your heart and hope 
to die,” ordered Monica. 

“I’ll promise, Monica, but I don’t want to do the other,” 
protested Joe. “It sort of frightens me to hope to die, 
and I don’t know how Bell would feel if she should 
hear me.” 

“How could she?” demanded Monica. But she re- 
lented and accepted his promise, which she knew meant 
quite as much. 

“Listen, Joey,” she said mysteriously. “Do you know 
where father and mother got me?” 

“Up in Vermont when they went there to visit and let 
the clocks run down,” returned Joe. 

“That’s right. But did you know that they went up 
there just on purpose to get me?” 

Joe shook his head wonderingly. 

Monica looked around the garden, and lowered her 
voice still further as she went on. 


34 


THE NEWCOMER 


“They went up to get me because I’m their own little 
girl. They left me up there with mother’s sister until I 
was nine years old. You see, mother hates babies. She 
can’t help it. It’s like some people that can’t bear the' 
sight of a black cat and, most everybody, snakes. But 
she loves children after they get over being babies, and 
so she didn’t want to give me away when I was born. 
So she and father didn’t say anything to anyone, but the! 
very day I came they carried me up to Vermont and left 
me there till I was nine years old. Of course, I wasn’t 
there all the time. Part of the time they boarded me with 
a family in New York, and that’s why I know so much 
about the city.” 

Joe’s big grey eyes looked so large that Monica felt! 
uncomfortable. If he had doubted her story and she had 
had to force him to believe it, it would have been easier 
for her. But she did not understand that he was thinking 
only of Mrs. Smith. He had never dreamed that Mrs., 
Smith had the shadow of a fault or blemish. 

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t love my father as 
well as you do yours?” Monica demanded rather feebly. 

Joe shook his head. His mind was in such tumult that 
it seemed as if he couldn’t talk. A queer feeling had come 
over Monica, too, and she decided to go down to her 
father’s shop to walk back with him at noon. Left alone, 
Joe distressed himself by the attempt to understand how 
anyone so sweet and gentle as Mrs. Smith could have 
hated her own baby. 

He worried about it for two days. On the evening of 
the second, as he went into the kitchen where Bell was 
washing up after tea, his face was unusually serious and 
Bell knew he had something on his mind. 


IN PENNY LANE 


35 


Catching a little sigh, she looked up. The lamplight 
falling on the little boy’s pale hair made it look like silver. 
He had been out with his father and wore one of his white 
linen suits (which had a loose buttoned jacket instead of 
the sailor blouse other boys wore), with a wide white 
collar and a light-blue scarf tied in a big bow. Bell was 
always calling the boy an angel in her secret heart, but 
tonight she wondered how anyone could look into his face 
without tears coming to his eyes. Certainly, she herself 
could not, and she attacked her task so vigorously that 
she dropped her dish cloth. 

‘‘That means company,” she declared as Joe sprang 
to pick it up. 

“To-night! Oh, Bell!” he cried in dismay. “They’ll 
be sure to ask for me, and I wanted to have a long talk 
with you.” 

“It’s more likely to be to-morrow, supper being over. 
Company means people that stay to eat, and people drop- 
ping in in the evening are only callers. I don’t know 
what would be the sign for that unless it was dropping 
the duster,” said Bell. “But anyhow, Joe, why don’t you 
begin right away if it’s long?” 

“Perhaps after all it isn’t long. Bell, It may be it only 
seemed so because I knew I should have difficulty in start- 
ing,” said Joe, puckering his brows in perplexity. 

Bell looked at him. “What is it you’re a-seeing, Joey, 
when your eyes seem to be looking inside you instead of 
out?” she asked. 

“Oh, Bell, how you have helped me! A black cat is 
what I see, and now I can begin right away,” he cried 
gratefully. 

“A black cat?” she repeated doubtfully. 


36 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Not any special black cat, Bell; just any black cat. 
Did you ever know anybody that had a — a. sort of homo- 
opathy for black cats?” he asked. 

“A what, Joey boy?” 

“Fm not quite sure if I have the word just right, but 
I think it’s homo-opathy/* he said. 

“And what’s that — a hospital-like or orphans’ home for 
black cats?” asked Bell. “And who ever heard the like 
of that! But maybe you mean a place where they raise 
black cats with shaggy hair that takes prizes at cattle 
shows ?” 

“It’s homo, not home” he corrected gently. “And it 
doesn’t mean anything pleasant nor kind, as you might 
think. It means a curious feeling inside you that makes 
you hate anything so that you can’t bear the sight of it. 
Some people feel that way about black cats, I am told.” 

“Sure they do. I have known such myself, though I 
never knew they had the homoanthropy” returned Bell. 
“I once heard tell of an old woman and her hair would 
stand straight up on her head if a black cat came into the 
room even if it was pitch dark.” 

Joe shivered. “Dear me, how dreadful 1 Was it very 
long — her hair?” he asked. 

“Oh, no, not very,” said Bell quickly and soothingly; 
“and I suppose really it was only the roots that stood up, 
you know.” 

Joe was silent a few minutes. Then he asked what 
the old woman did in such case. Would she harm the 
cat? 

“I suppose she might have if she could have got at it. 
I remember someone saying how she hated the sight of 
a black cat, but always felt like chasing after one if she 


IN PENNY LANE 37 

saw it. But black cats are sly and smart and I guess 
they don't suffer much." 

“Bell, do you suppose that's why so many people kill 
harmless snakes?" Joe asked fearfully. 

“It might be, I suppose," Bell admitted; “but I guess 
we'd better let it go at black cats. And now I wonder 
if you happen to feel as much like playing a game of 
dominoes as I do. I'm just hankering for it myself." 

“Oh, Bell, I'd love to. I'll get the dominoes and fix 
the table and if you get through by quarter past seven 
we can play for an hour!" cried Joe. 

Bell believed that he wouldn't think any more about 
black cats. Joe tried not to, indeed, but it wasn't so bad 
to think of them as of snakes. And he said to himself 
that every time Mrs. Smith had gone to Vermont to visit 
her sister they had had to board her baby in New York 
as long as she stayed, lest she do it harm. That good, 
innocent-looking Mrs. Smith! But he had to keep re- 
minding himself that she couldn't help it. 


CHAPTER VII 


T ommy JENNINGS, who lived on a big farm four 
miles beyond the South Hollow, was not acquainted 
with any children in Farleigh except the Lees, who were 
his cousins. He had seen most of the others, for his 
family attended church at Penny Lane. He had always 
attended the district school which was a quarter of a mile 
below his father’s sheep pasture, and he had been very 
happy there until last spring. At that time Bobby Rollins, 
his next-door neighbour and chum, moved away, and 
Tommy was left without a friend of his own age and 
with no other boy in his class at school. The boy next 
older was eleven and would hardly speak to Tommy, and 
the next younger was not eight and Tommy scorned him 
as almost a baby. He didn’t know how he should ever 
'endure the school until he should be old enough to go in 
jto the South Hollow to the academy. 

Out of school, too, he missed Bobby sadly, for he had 
no one to play with but his dog Pedro. His three brothers 
■were much older, Henry being seventeen, Clayton, sixteen, 
and Fred, fourteen; but though they were ready to be 
very kind to him. Tommy rather kept away from them 
and seemed like an only child. They were quiet boys, 
fond of skating, coasting and swimming, but well behaved 
and orderly at home as at school. They had helped their 
father with the chores long before they were nine years 
old, and now they did the greater part of the work on the 
farm during the summer and were busy night and morn- 

38 


IN PENNY LANE 


39 


ing when the academy, which all three attended, was in 
session. Tommy was naturally quicker at his books than 
any of them, but he was lazy and mischievous in school 
and out. He loved the animals on the farm but could not 
be depended upon to help his brothers even in such pleas- 
ant work as watering the horses or feeding the chickens 
or such easy tasks as carrying kindling-wood into the 
house after his brothers had split it. He admired his 
brother Clayton immensely and liked to be with him, but 
he seldom gave Clay much of his companjr excepting on 
Sundays when he knew he would not be likely to suggest 
his helping with the chores. 

His mother, who was very proud of him because he 
learned so easily, said that Tommy was going to be a 
scholar and should be sent to college. She admitted that 
he was unusually noisy and headstrong, but she said that 
it wasn’t the little boy’s fault. He was so brimming over 
with health and spirits that he was like a little wild animal. 
When he was a bit older she declared that he would be as 
well behaved as his brothers who had never given her the 
least trouble. But her sister. Tommy’s Aunt Hannah, 
said that he was a spoiled child and that when he was 
older his parents would regret exceedingly that they had 
not brought him up to be helpful and obedient. 

She felt that they must regret it already when, in the 
summer when Tommy was nine, his mother had a long, 
severe illness. She lay in bed many weeks and truly 
Tommy disturbed her sadly. She could not sleep at night 
and if she fell asleep during the day, it seemed as if 
Tommy always woke her. The older boys tried to get the 
child out with them into the ha>dields, and, if they were 
successful, to keep him there, but he was too restless to 


40 


THE NEWCOMER 


remain anywhere for more than ten minutes. His father 
scolded him and threatened him with all sorts of punish- 
ment, but nothing seemed to help. Tommy loved his 
mother and did not intend to disturb her; but he forgot 
she was ill except when he peeped into the door of her 
room, which Aunt Hannah seldom allowed him to enter. 
He had always played about the house and nearer barn 
and had always made as much noise as he wanted to, and 
it would have been hard for him to have done otherwise 
at this time even if he had tried. And perhaps he did not 
really try. 

Aunt Hannah said that he didn’t. She declared it was 
scandalous the way that boy behaved. It was all his fault, 
she believed, that his mother was ill, and she wouldn’t 
get well all winter unless the boy could be made to mind. 
She added that if his mother wasn’t her own sister, she 
wouldn’t remain in the house over night. If people 
couldn’t bring up their children to be better than the 
heathen, why it would serve them right to be left in the 
lurch at such a time as this. 

Some of this Tommy’s father heard and some he over- 
heard. He felt very grateful to Aunt Hannah, who was 
truly pleasant and agreeable except where her youngest 
nephew was concerned. She took wonderful care of her 
sister and was kindness itself to her and to all the house- 
hold except Tommy. Besides that, with only the help of 
a young maid-servant who could not cook, she did all the 
work of the farmhouse, which included the care of a large 
amount of milk and butter-making twice a week. Mr. 
Jennings did not agree with his wife that Hannah mis- 
judged Tommy, but he felt that she was perhaps a bit 
hard on a lively little boy of nine. At the same time, he 


IN PENNY LANE 


41 


considered it hardly fair to accept so much from her and 
yet allow her to be so troubled by the child. Finally, one 
day of the last week of August, he drove down to Penny 
Lane to consult his cousin, Mrs. Lee. She had seven chil- 
dren, all exceedingly lively excepting the baby who wasn't 
yet old enough to walk, and yet she always seemed serene 
and untroubled and looked so young and blooming that 
the baby might have been her first-born. She ought to 
be able to advise him. 

Mrs. Lee was very sympathetic towards everyone, 
though she rather thought Aunt Hannah might be more 
sensible. She feared she rubbed Tommy the wrong way 
and might spoil his disposition. Mr. Jennings secretly 
felt that it had been spoiled before Aunt Hannah appeared 
at the farm, but he only asked his cousin what was to 
be done since things were as they were. It would only 
make matters worse to try to reform the boy in the midst 
of his mother’s illness. 

Mrs. Lee immediately suggested that Tommy should 
come and visit her until his mother should have recovered. 
Mr. Jennings cried out against her taking in another child 
with all her seven and only old Katy to help her. But 
Mrs. Lee said that really she had only six children and 
Ruth. Ruth was not a child. . She was a little woman and 
an angel and the greatest help and comfort a mother 
ever had. Wherefore, Tommy would make the seventh. 
And besides, children always behaved better when they 
were visiting. Why even Essie was almost as good as 
Ruth when she went to see her Aunt Esther. Tommy 
liked Charley and George, her oldest children, and they 
were fond of him, and he could have a bed in their big 


42 


THE NEWCOMER 


chamber. And Cousin Charley knew well that there was 
always room at the big table in the dining-room. 

Mr. Jennings thanked her warmly and said he might 
have been tempted to take advantage of her goodness if 
it wasn’t for the fact that school was to open next week. 
But Mrs. Lee said nonsense, she had of course meant that 
Tommy should come to her and attend school at Penny 
Lane. He was just Essie’s age and would be in her room. 
Finally Mr. Jennings agreed to think it over. 

He called to Tommy who had come with him and who 
was playing with Roger and Walter, little fellows of five 
and three, in the yard. But just as Tommy appeared 
reluctantly, Mr. Lee alighted from a carriage and stood 
talking to his father. And then Essie came out on the 
verandah and beckoned to him. 

Tommy liked Essie least of all the Lees. Essie put on 
airs with Tommy and thought she was smart because she 
lived in the village and was three months the older. But 
she was meek as could be with Charley and George, who 
were thirteen and eleven, especially when she wanted them 
to take her skating or sliding or something of that sort. 
They were nice to her because their mother made them be, 
but they liked other boys’ sisters better than Essie, though 
they were crazy about Ruthy. Tommy sauntered up to- 
wards the verandah as if he were just looking over the 
grounds. 

‘Tf you want anything of me, Essie, out with it quick, 
for we’re in a hurry,” he remarked shortly. 

“Your father looks like it,” retorted Essie. 

“He has to be polite, doesn’t he?” demanded Tommy. 
“Uncle George went and stopped him when he was all 
ready to go.” 


IN PENNY LANE 


43 


‘Well, if he is polite, I guess he^s got all the politeness 
in your family,’’ remarked Essie. “And I’ll tell father 
what you said about him.” 

“I didn’t say anything about Uncle George,” Tommy 
declared, but he looked sober. He was very fond of 
Uncle George and he didn’t know what Essie might not 
make of his remark in repetition. But as his hands 
sought his jacket pockets, one of them encountered some- 
thing firm and smooth. It was the first pear on the finest 
Bartlett tree to ripen, and Clayton had given it to him as 
they started, to eat on the way. Tommy had saved it to 
eat going back, and even though Katy had given him and 
the little boys a plate of cookies (of which he had eaten 
over half as the little ones ate slowly) he hated to give 
up the pear. Nevertheless, he sacrificed it. He handed 
it to Essie silently. 

Essie accepted it graciously and came nearer to Tommy. 

“Do you know what your father came over for?” she 
asked in a low tone. 

He shook his head. 

“He says you’re so noisy and rampageous that your 
Aunt Hannah’s nearly crazy, and mother said you could 
come here and stay and go to school. And he said he’d 
wait and see how you behave this week first,” Essie whis- 
pered triumphantly. 

Tommy was so taken by surprise that he felt angry. 

“How’d you know?” he demanded. 

Essie rubbed the pear with the hem of her blouse. “I 
didn’t listen. I just happened to hear,” she said. 

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Lee had left Ruth in the next 
room beside the baby’s crib when she went into the living 
room to speak to Mr. Jennings. After a little Ruth stole 


44 


THE NEWCOMER 


out, and Essie, who was always looking for a chance to 
lecture Ruth, asked her sternly why she had left the baby 
alone. 

‘‘He’s asleep, and they were talking about something I 
don’t think mother would like me to hear, so I came out,” 
Ruth said gently. 

“That’s all right, Ruthy,” Essie admitted. “But he 
might wake up and have fits or something and I’d better 
go right in.” And though Ruth looked troubled, she 
tiptoed in and heard the greater part of the conversation. 

Tommy was frowning as Charley came running into 
the yard. He showed Tommy a magnet he had won as a 
premium for selling flavouring extracts and allowed 
Tommy to try it where another older boy would only have 
allowed a younger one to watch him. Tommy’s heart 
warmed further to his cousin. 

George wasn’t so nice, but he wasn’t bad, and the two 
little fellows he had been playing with were lots of fun. 
And Ruthy was, of course, the best of the bunch. Aunt 
Lena and Uncle George and Katy were far nicer than 
anyone at home excepting his mother and Pedro and 
possibly Clay, so Tommy thought he could put up with 
Essie. It would be fun, too, going to school where there 
were a lot of boys. On the way home. Tommy Jennings 
decided to be as noisy as he could be in order to be able 
to stay at the Lees until that awful old Aunt Hannah had 
returned to her own home. 


CHAPTER VIII 


^ i ^OMMY JENNINGS found it rather difficult to be 
noisier than usual. It came to him in bed a few 
nights after the day he had gone into Penny Lane with his 
father that he must have been bad indeed before he had 
tried to be bad enough to be sent away. Otherwise, his 
conduct would not have been so hard to beat. 

It was just after his brother Clayton had gone down ^ 
stairs that Tommy began thinking thus. Until recently, 
all his brothers had rather left Tommy to himself and his 
play ; but since their mother had been ill, Clayton, the sec- 
ond son, had tried to do something for his little brother to 
make up for the constant attention his mother gave him. 
He went up to Tommy’s chamber with him every night, 
helped him undress and stayed with him for a time, often 
until he dropped asleep. He wouldn’t allow Tommy to 
say his prayers in bed as his mother did when he com- 
plained that his feet felt cold, which he did rather fre- 
quently, considering the season. Neither did he have so 
much tact in urging Tommy to be a better boy. But very 
likely that was because Clay thought he was worse than 
his mother did. And anyhow he was good-humoured and 
amusing, and he acted as if he really liked Tommy, which 
was rather surprising. For Tommy couldn’t remember 
doing anything pleasant or obliging for Clayton ex- 
cepting a day or so before Christmas or his birthday. 

Clay had been particularly nice this evening, praising 
Tommy warmly for having given the big pear to Essie 
45 


46 


THE NEWCOMER 


Lee. He had talked so kindly that Tommy was so moved 
as to think of trying to be better instead of worse. There 
was truly something in favour of such a course. It would 
be extremely easy to be better, whereas he had found it 
hard to be strikingly worse. On the other hand, he had 
never been away from home at night and it would be great 
fun to see the shops and the street lamps lighted. And 
after all, he almost never saw his mother, and even if 
he were a lot better, very likely she would not know it. 
He would have to be perfect before Aunt Hannah would 
say a good word for him and of course he couldn’t be 
anything like that. It would be better to postpone making 
any such change until his mother was well and then to 
surprise her by it. And perhaps she would forget that 
he had been bad even before Aunt Hannah came and lay 
it all to her. 

He must have been thinking of Aunt Hannah when he 
fell asleep, for he dreamed that Pedro, his dog, a shaggy 
shepherd, came to his bedside wearing Aunt Hannah’s 
bonnet with the strings tied in a bow. When Pedro told 
him that he was really a wolf and had eaten up Aunt 
Hannah, whom he called ‘‘your grandmother,” it didn’t 
seem strange, but it seemed rather sad. Tommy was 
wondering if he could cut the the dog- wolf’s stomach open 
and let her out when he awoke. 

He was glad it was only a dream and went off to sleep 
again. He forgot all about it until next morning when 
Aunt Hannah made him come back and shut a door he 
had left open. He didn’t dare disobey for his father was 
right there, but he said to himself he wished Pedro was 
a wolf and would eat her right up. He’d like to see him- 
self cut open his stomach even if she begged and begged. 


IN PENNY LANE 


47 


But as he went along, suddenly he had a vision of Pedro 
in the black bonnet with the bow under his chin and he 
laughed gleefully. And then it came to him that he would 
really dress Pedro up in her bonnet. 

He waited some time for a chance to secure the bonnet. 
But Aunt Hannah, who was watchful always, seemed, 
especially alert that day, and Tommy couldn’t even appear 
in the passage leading to her chamber without her seeing 
him. Finally she asked him what mischief he was up to. 
His room was on the third floor and she didn’t want him 
hanging around hers at all. So he waited until after 
dinner when she took his mother’s tray into the sick-room, 
which was on the ground floor. The moment the door 
closed behind her. Tommy made for the stairs. But he 
ascended them quietly for once. 

His heart beat as if it were midnight and there were 
robbers behind him as he raised the latch of Aunt 
Hannah’s door. As he pushed it open, it squeaked so 
that Tommy felt as one of the extra men had looked last 
week when he had fainted in the hay field. And after all, 
there was something terrible about Aunt Hannah, and 
brave as he thought himself. Tommy would not for the 
world have had her catch him in her chamber. For she 
was ever so tall and so thin that she showed how much 
bone and muscle she had, and she was over forty years 
old and he was only nine. But he told himself that he 
was safe for ten minutes and he meant to stay only three. 
He would look around for the bonnet and if he did not 
see it he supposed he would open the door of the clothes- 
press, though he hated to. But if he did not find it 
directly he would wait until some day when she left it 
downstairs. 


48 


THE NEWCOMER 


He stepped in. It wasn’t on the great white bed. It 
wasn’t — ^yes, there it was, first thing, on the sofa ! The 
pink roses called his attention to it — pink roses so natural 
that Tommy poked his nose into them. It was certainly 
a pretty bonnet — far too pretty for a cross old woman 
like Aunt Hannah. It was almost too pretty for Pedro. 

But again the thought of Pedro in a bonnet made 
Tommy laugh. The sound startled him and seizing the 
bonnet he flew with it to his own chamber. After he 
recovered from his fright, he began to wonder how he 
should get Pedro up there to dress him up. It came to 
him that it would be simpler to take the bonnet to Pedro. 
But he hardly liked to carry it downstairs even under his 
jacket, and he decided to drop it from the window. 

But as he was about to do so, he discovered that the 
bonnet had no strings. Aunt Hannah must have cut them 
off, for he remembered the bow tied under her chin last 
Sunday when he had longed but hadn’t dared to give them 
a twitch and untie it in church. His mother pinned her 
hats right through a little wad of hair and quite likely 
Aunt Hannah had decided to put on a little style and to do 
the same. Yes, that was it, for the roses must be new, 
too. She had taken off those shiny black rounds and put 
the roses on it. 

But Pedro would have to have strings. Fumbling 
about in the drawer of the dresser, Tommy found two 
silk ties, one red and one blue. It was all the better not 
to have them match, for Pedro would look more sprightly 
with red, the white of his hair under his chin, and blue. 
With his jackknife Tommy cut two little slits in the brim 
of the bonnet and fastened the ties securely in. Then he 
dropped it quickly out of the window, rushed down the 


IN PENNY LANE 49 

two flights of stairs, picked it up and ran to the barn 
without being seen. 

It required some time to find Pedro and considerable 
effort to get the bonnet on and tied. Pedro thought it 
was all a game, as indeed it was; only he thought it was 
the wrong kind of game. He thought the game was to 
get the bonnet off, whereas it was to keep it on. Further- 
more, Tommy would have the bonnet in place and be 
tying the strings when he would look at Pedro and burst 
out laughing so that he could do nothing. And Pedro 
would slip his head out and look as if he were laughing 
too. I 

Finally, however, he got it on and fastened it securely, 
tying the ends of the silk to the rings in the dog’s collar. 
Tommy held tightly to the collar until he got over laugh- 
ing. The question was, now that Pedro was dressed up, 
what to do with him. He was so very funny that Tommy 
longed to have his mother see him. She loved funny 
things almost as much as Tommy did, and how she would 
laugh to see Pedro in a bonnet with pink roses and blue 
and red strings — particularly if he should put his tongue 
out and look as silly as he did at that moment. And 
everybody said it was good for sick people to be cheerful. 

If it wasn’t for Aunt Hannah, he could manage it 
easily. Tommy tried to think of some trick to get her 
away from his mother’s room. He thought of taking a 
round grey stone down cellar and putting it into a milk 
pan. Then he could say to Huldah that there was some- 
thing in the milk that looked like a drowned mouse. 
Huldah would scream and Aunt Hannah would come fly- 
ing out. When Huldah told her she would say, nonsense. 


50 


THE NEWCOMER 


no such thing. But she would rush right down cellar 
just the same, and he 

Unhappily, at just that moment Pedro’s only enemy, 
a hound belonging to the man next door, came bounding 
into the yard and up to the barn door. Pedro gave a tre- 
mendous jerk which freed him from Tommy’s grasp and 
was off after the other dog in a flash, bonnet and all. By 
the time Tommy realised what had happened, both dogs 
were racing along the dusty highway, the hound well in 
the lead, but the dog in the bonnet steadily gaining upon 
him, the pink roses faint in the distance. 

Late that afternoon, Mrs. Jennings woke from a nap 
and remarked to her sister that Tommy had been like a 
little mouse all afternoon. Clayton had been urging him 
to be quieter, she knew, and the little fellow must be try- 
ing very hard. And she said she was very thankful, for 
she couldn’t bear the thought of Tommy’s being banished 
from home. 

Aunt Hannah did not say what she thought, which 
was that if Tommy had been quiet it was because he had 
been in mischief. As she looked out of the window to 
see if he were anywhere within sight, she saw Pedro come 
bounding into the yard from the road. Pedro always 
went after the cows, and Aunt Hannah, who was very 
fond of him, smiled as she said to herself what a faithful 
creature he was. But the smile froze upon her lips as 
she caught sight of something dangling about the dog’s 
neck. It was a shapeless mass that might have been straw 
from the barn; but one pink rose kept enough colour to 
tell the story. It was the remains of Mrs. Jennings’s new 
hat which she had never worn, as she had bought it the 


IN PENNY LANE 


51 


very day she had been taken ill. Aunt Hannah had car- 
ried it to her room that morning to put a tuck in the lining. 

She said nothing to her sister, but she told Mr. Jen- 
nings, who found Pedro and cut the telltale mass from 
his collar. He was very angry, and when Tommy came 
in very late, ordered him to go at once to his chamber. 

“I guess ril eat my supper first,’' remarked Tommy 
jauntily. 

'T guess you won’t,” cried his father. “Hurry along 
upstairs unless you want me to help you.” 

Reaching his room. Tommy was just thinking of roar- 
ing out “I’m hungry!” until his mother should hear it 
and see that he had something to eat. But before he did 
so, Huldah appeared with a bowl of bread and milk. 

“If it was my boy you was. Tommy Jennings, it’s 
nothing you’d get the night,” Huldah declared severely. 
“To think of your spoiling your ma’s new Sunday hat 
that she never wore and her sick in her bed. Where’s the 
heart of you, anyway?” And rushing out, she slammed 
the door behind her. 

For a moment Tommy sat perfectly still. Then he 
flung himself upon the bed in despair. He had put his 
dear mother’s hat, her new hat she had never worn, on 
Pedro. And those beautiful pink roses that almost 
smelled. His poor mother! How terribly she would 
feel! Suppose it should kill her! 

He was crying bitterly when he heard steps without. 
It was his father and Tommy knew from the sound of 
his steps that he was in a very severe mood. And truly 
Mr. Jennings’s face was very stern when he entered. 

“Thomas Jennings !” he exclaimed. He was about to ask 
him what he meant by such outrageous behaviour. But 


52 


THE NEWCOMER 


the little boy stood before him with tears rolling down his 
cheeks and his hands outstretched beseechingly. Tommy 
was very dear to his father’s heart. He was the youngest, 
and had come to them after the deaths of two little girls 
had left the farm-house very lonely. Tommy seldom 
shed tears and he must be very sorry. 

“Oh, father ! I didn’t know it was my darling mother’s 
hat!” he wailed. “I never dreamed it was her new hat. 
I thought it was Aunt Hannah’s bonnet.” 

Suddenly Mr. Jennings laughed out. He would not 
have laughed for the world, but he couldn’t help it. And 
after he had laughed it was not of much use to be stern 
again, though he made an effort. He told Tommy that 
it wasn’t a funny trick at all. It was a very, very naughty 
thing to do. It was all the worse because he had meant 
to take Aunt Hannah’s bonnet when she was their guest 
and they were all under the greatest obligation to her. 

“She’s all right as a nurse,” Tommy remarked meekly, 
“but I don’t think much of her as an aunt.” ^ 

His father turned away as if to go downstairs. 

“Oh, father, you going? Can’t I come, too?” Tommy 
begged. 

His father looked at him. Tommy rubbed his eyes 
with his dirty fists. 

“Well, if you’ll promise ” Mr. Jennings began, 

then wondered what Hannah would say if he brought the 
boy down. 

“No, indeed. Tommy; of course you can’t come down- 
stairs tonight,” he said sternly. “And you ought to have 
a much worse punishment than going to bed early. If I 
had done anything one-half as bad when I was a boy, my 
father would have given me a good beating. You de- 


IN PENNY LANE 


53 


serve a whipping, but I will let you off this once. But if 
you are ever as naughty again, why, then you’ll catch it. 
Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir. But I wish I could have a piece of cake,” 
said Tommy calmly. 

He thought he was going to get it, for his father didn’t 
say anything at first. Then he refused sharply, bade 
Tommy get into bed at once, and went out, closing the 
door behind him. 

Tommy went to bed, but he lay awake for a long while. 
He felt very bad about the hat and shed more tears over 
it. Then he decided to save all his coppers and nickels 
and buy a new one, and after that he felt better. Pres- 
ently it came to him that now he would be sent into Penny 
Lane to stay at the Lees’ until Aunt Hannah went away. 
It was funny that when he had tried to be bad he hadn’t 
succeeded, and when he had forgotten all about it and 
hadn’t tried at all, he had been worse than ever before in 
his life. 

He began to feel very queer. And it came to him that 
he didn’t want to go away, after all. He didn’t want to 
leave Pedro and Clay and his father. And though Aunt 
Hannah didn’t let him get a peek at his mother very often, 
he hated to leave the place where she was. If only he 
hadn’t had that dream last night ! 


CHAPTER IX 


A ll this happened on the Friday before school opened 
for the fall term. On the same day, Mr. Langley, 
who was chairman of the school committee, went over 
to the Hollow in the afternoon to talk with Mr. Phillips, 
the master, at the academy. Mr. Smith had taken the 
afternoon off to drive Monica over to Wenham to get her 
hair cut in the square fashion children were wearing it, 
and Mrs. Smith had come over to spend an hour with 
Mrs. Langley. Joe had been reading to Big Bell while 
she picked over blueberries; but as soon as her task was 
done she sent him into the parlour, knowing that his 
mother would want him. He had only greeted Mrs. 
Smith and seated himself by the window when he saw 
Anna Miller drive up to the post outside the gate. 

As always, the little boy’s heart leaped at the sight of 
his beloved Anna. But it grew cold a moment after, for 
her sister, Mrs. Cartwright, was with her and had her 
baby. The Cartwright baby was a beautiful child. Opin- 
ions differed as to the twins, who were red-haired, but no 
one had anything but praise for the baby, who had al- 
ready a cloud of fair hair and looked like her Aunt Anna. 
Joe Langley adored her, and had never before felt other- 
wise than delighted to see her. But today his distress was 
acute. 

He was usually slow of motion, but he slipped out of 
the parlour and was at the hitching post as Anna sprang 
from the phaeton. His anxious face frightened her. 

54 


IN PENNY LANE 


55 


‘‘Oh, Joey, is anything wrong?” she asked. 

“No, Anna, darling. Only — please don’t take the baby 
in the parlour,” he begged. “Won’t you take her quietly 
round to the back door and let her stay with Bell and 
me? Bell just loves her and so do I.” 

“Dear me, what’s the matter ?” cried the baby’s mother. 
“If there’s someone in the parlour with whooping-cough, 
I won’t get out at all. Baby and I will wait in the 
phaeton.” 

“Oh, no. Aunt Rusty; it isn’t so bad as that,” said Joe. 
And then it occurred to him that really it was worse. He 
threw his arms about Anna and spoke low. 

“Mrs. Smith is in the parlour, Anna, and she can’t 
bear babies. She can’t help it. They make her feel like 
a black cat makes some people, and — I don’t believe she’d 
hurt the baby, but — she might be just possessed to chase 
her.” 

Anna and her sister both looked at the child in amaze- 
ment. But Joe’s statements were always to be taken as 
seriously as those of older people, and they felt concerned. 
Neither of them knew Mrs. Smith well, but they thought 
her a pleasant, kindly woman, and couldn’t conceive her 
having an antipathy to anything so sweet and innocent as 
a ten-months-old baby. Mrs. Cartwright, who was very 
proud of her youngest, and more grateful than anyone 
else that it hadn’t red hair or even reddish, wasn’t in- 
clined to have her baby carried round to the kitchen. She 
would have preferred to sit in the carriage. But Anna 
always carried the baby out to see Bell, and she said 
probably Mrs. Smith wouldn’t stay long and they could 
have the baby in by the time Mr. Langley got home — 
which was the main thing to be done. 


56 


THE NEWCOMER 


So she took the baby round while her sister waited. 
Bell was transported with delight at the prospect of a 
visit from the baby, and Joe remained with them. Anna 
stole round the house again and she and her sister en- 
tered together. Mrs. Langley, who loved Anna next to 
Joe, engaged her in conversation on the sofa. Mrs. Smith 
turned eagerly to Mrs. Cartwright. 

*‘Oh, Mrs. Cartwright, why didn’t you bring the 
baby?” she asked so eagerly that the baby’s mother 
thought she must be a sad hypocrite. ‘T think she’s really 
the sweetest baby I ever saw, and I should love to have 
her in my arms. I have always been wild over babies, 
and since I have had Monica I seem to be all the more so. 
I am not sure that I won’t adopt a little sister or brother 
for her.” 

Mrs. Cartwright murmured something so cold that 
Mrs. Smith felt as if she must somehow have offended 
her. She turned to her sister, whom she knew better. 

‘T was telling your sister how disappointed I am that 
she shouldn’t have brought her baby,” she remarked. ‘T 
suppose your mother wanted to keep her and I can’t blame 
her.” 

‘Well, it’s all mother and the boys can do to look out 
for the twins, so we — we couldn’t leave the baby with 
her,” Anna said, in an odd, embarrassed way. 

‘T forgot Professor Cartwright. I suppose he knows 
how to take care of her?” Mrs. Smith asked politely. 

“Yes, Mrs. Smith, Reuben’s very handy, indeed, but — 
he’s away, and — we brought the baby — as far as Penny 
Lane.” 

Even Mrs. Langley looked surprised. “Why, where is 


IN PENNY LANE 


57 


she she asked, while Mrs. Smith looked about the room 
as if expecting to discover a baby on the piano- forte or 
the mantel. 

‘‘Why, we left her with Bell for a little. Bell just loves 
babies, you know,^’ Anna stammered. 

Mrs. Langley looked meaningly at Mrs. Smith. 

“There it is again !'’ she exclaimed triumphantly. 

She turned to the sisters. “We were saying before 
you came in, Mrs. Smith and I were, that there’s some- 
thing queer about the way people humour Bell Adams. 
Mr. Langley himself does it. And the calm way she ac- 
cepts it all! You would almost think Joe was her own 
child, and she’s got him so he thinks almost as much of 
her as he does of me. And Monica’s possessed about 
her, too. Of course, she’s a good-natured soul and a fine 
cook and housekeeper, but she's so big and uncouth and 
so ignorant.” 

“Bell’s a dear, and she fascinates me as much as any- 
one, Mrs. Langley,” Anna declared. 

“Well, even if she does, is that any reason she should 
have Rusty’s baby first?” demanded Mrs. Langley. 

“Oh, we’ll have baby in shortly,” remarked Anna 
cheerfully. “But when she once comes in, you know, 
she’ll take up all the attention, and I want to talk about 
myself a bit. You see, Mrs. Smith, I am going to New 
York next month to study music and my head is rather 
turned by the excitement.” 

Mrs. Smith knew the girl well enough to understand 
that it wasn’t like her to wish to talk about herself. She 
was really very eager to see the baby, and now she asked 
the mother if it were afraid of strangers. And Mrs. 


58 


THE NEWCOMER 


Cartwright, who felt perfectly safe in saying it, declared 
that the baby was too little afraid. She would go to any 
stranger willingly. 

“Good enough! Then I am going to march straight 
into the kitchen, take her away from Bell and bring her 
in here!” declared Mrs. Smith gayly. 

Anna gasped. The baby’s mother cried out : “Oh, no, 
Mrs. Smith, please don’t.” And rising, she went to the 
door leading into the passage. 

The smile faded from Mrs. Smith’s face. She looked 
at Mrs. Cartwright as if she thought she was out of her 
mind. And Mrs. Langley opened her eyes in astonish- 
ment. 

“Why, Rusty,” she said reproachfully, “Mrs. Smith 
has been my neighbour for fiteen years and knows how 
to handle babies as well as I do. Why, when Joe 


“Rusty’s nervous,” said Anna quickly. “Those impos- 
sible twins keep her all keyed up. I’ll go get the baby.” 

Her sister looked at her with a wildly imploring glance. 
Anna tried to make her answering glance reassuring 
enough so that Rusty would let her through the door, 
put she couldn’t even feign cheerfulness, for Mrs. Smith 
seemed to be watching her with a strange intentness. 
Suppose she should make a dash for the kitchen ! 

“I am nervous,” declared Mrs. Cartwright in an odd 
voice. “Anna, I want to go home right away. You go 
out and unhitch and I’ll come right out and get in. I’ll 
come again very soon, Mrs. Langley.” 

As Mrs. Langley was protesting, and Mrs. Smith, who 
had risen, was declaring that she was just leaving herself, 
Mr. Langley walked in. Anna and Rusty were great 


IN PENNY LANE 


59 


favourites with him. He greeted them warmly and asked 
for the baby. 

*‘Beirs got her/' said Mrs. Langley rather curtly, for 
she was annoyed. She felt that the girls were behaving 
very strangely towards her guest. Mr. Langley glanced 
at his wife in some surprise, but supposed she resented 
the fact of Bell’s having the baby. Without a word he 
left the room. 


CHAPTER X 


A S Mr. Langley left the room bound for the kitchen and 
xA-the baby, the sisters exchanged glances. Anna 
wanted hers to say that with Mr. Langley in the parlour, 
there would be no risk in having the baby in. But the 
baby’s mother either did not understand or did not agree 
with her sister. She rushed out after Mr. Langley. 

A pause fell upon the three left, an awkward pause. 
Mrs. Smith looked straight at Anna. 

“Anna, is there anything wrong with Mrs. Cart- 
wright?” she asked with dignity. 

“She’s nervous. Rusty was always high-strung,” said 
Anna uneasily. 

“She acted as if she didn’t care to have me see her 
baby— or the baby see me,” said Mrs. Smith. “Dear me, 
is there anything wrong with me? Have I got smut on 
my face or anything of that sort?” 

“Oh, no, indeed, Mrs. Smith,” cried Anna in real dis- 
tress, “and please don’t misunderstand ” 

“Misunderstand what, Anna Miller?” asked Mrs. 
Smith indignantly. “Is it true, then, that your sister is 
unwilling to have me see the baby?” 

“Why Clara Smith, are you out of your head?” cried 
Mrs. Langley. “Of course it is not true. Tell her that 
it isn’t, Anna.” 

Anna looked from one to the other. 


60 


IN PENNY LANE 


61 


‘‘There has been a terrible mistake, and I suppose I 
ought to tell you,” she said. “Rusty understood — some- 
one told us that you couldn^t bear the sight of a baby, 
Mrs. Smith, — that you had an antipathy towards them 
such as some people have for black cats. Pm awfully 
sorry, but — we had no time to consider it. Someone 
told us just before we came in.” 

Mrs. Smith sank back into a chair, white and trembling. 

“I never heard anything like that in my life! What a 
wicked, cruel thing to say of anyone — ^to make up with 
no foundation whatever!” she cried. “Oh, Miss Miller, 
how could you believe it of me ?” 

“I don't know. Pm sure, Mrs. Smith,” cried Anna, im- 
pulsively running over to her. “I see now that it's the 
wildest nonsense. But hearing it with no chance even to 
think of it briefly, and being sort of wrought up any- 
how, we lost our heads. Let me tell you what happened 
at home this morning. There's an old well on Miss 
Penny's place that even Reuben didn't know about, and 
this morning my sister heard Buddy screaming and she 
and Reuben rushed up to where he was, and there was 
Ruddy half way down a deep, deep well with a bit of 
green water at the bottom. Reuben went right down and 
then we got a rope and they both got out, but it used 
us all up and you can see that Rusty has an excuse for 
being nervous.” 

“Indeed I can, Anna,” said Mrs. Smith generously. 
“Poor thing! Tell her how sorry I am, and — you'll ex- 
plain, won't you. I must run home.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Smith, please don't go,” begged Anna wildly. 
“Please stay and see the baby or else I shall feel as if 
you hadn't forgiven my stupidity.” 


62 


THE NEWCOMER 


“There^s nothing to forgive, so far as you are con- 
cerned, Anna. But I can’t help feeling shaken and dis- 
tressed and I don’t want Mr. Langley to see me. I would 
be likely to burst out crying if he should begin to talk in 
his nice way. If I go home, I shall be all right directly.” 

‘Then may we bring baby to make a special call soon ?” 
asked Anna. And Mrs. Smith declared that she would be 
delighted to have them. 


CHAPTER XI 


A S Monica Smith came in at tea-time on that Friday 
^ afternoon, she seemed like another child than the 
little girl who had peeped over the fence at Mr. Smith on 
that morning in early July. The sharpness had gone 
from her face and the unchildlike shrewdness from her 
brown eyes. Her skin, which had been pale and sallow, 
was smooth and brown now, and a warm rosy colour 
began to glow through it. Her brown hair, which had 
just been becomingly trimmed, was softer and smoother 
and seemed finer. In her pink linen frock with white 
collar and cuffs and her broad-brimmed leghorn hat, she 
was a very picturesque little figure. For in spite of Mr. 
Smith’s misgivings, Monica dressed better than any other 
child in the village. But her clothes were not elaborate, 
and as Mrs. Smith had a great deal of time and loved to 
make pretty things for her, and as her mother-heart had 
been starved so long, no one blamed her for dressing the 
pretty, bright-looking child as she liked. 

''Mother ! mother !” the little girl cried, running into the 
living-room and pulling off the hat with the daisy wreath 
about it to display the barber’s work. 

Mrs. Smith kissed her quietly, said that her hair was 
just right and then went up stairs with her to wash her 
hands for tea. But she didn’t ask about the drive nor 
kiss her again after she had washed her face, and a 
curious feeling came over Monica. She never remem- 
bered receiving affection until she came to live with the 
Smiths, but Monica was a sensitive child for all that, and 


63 


64 


THE NEWCOMER 


felt shades of difference in those she loved. The mis- 
sionary lady had warned her against being naughty or 
troublesome lest Mrs. Smith should not wish to keep hen 
She had tried to be good, or would have tried if it hadn’t 
been so easy that she hadn’t had to. Indeed, her new 
father and mother were so dear and wonderful that 
Monica felt that it would require a real effort to be 
naughty. And yet, something was wrong now. Her 
mother did not love her so much as she had loved her 
yesterday — even this morning. She had changed since 
she went over to Wenham. 

Mrs. Smith went down to put supper on the table. 
Monica lingered by the window. She had been a naughty 
girl, but not to her mother. She had told a lie to Joe 
Langley. She had felt badly about it whenever it came 
into her mind, and it came rather often. But that wasn’t 
the trouble with her mother, for she didn’t know. She 
thought telling lies was, oh, perfectly terrible, but she 
didn’t know this and never would. For Joe would never 
break his promise. 

But what, then, could it be? As she failed to think 
of anything she could have done to offend her mother, 
it came to Monica that perhaps the lie showed in her face. 
Perhaps she looked like a liar ! Suppose it had come out 
in her face like measles when the spots don’t show until 
you are sick in bed ? It might have begun to show in her 
face this afternoon and her mother noticed it as soon as 
she kissed her and began to hate her ! 

Moving to her pretty, muslin-draped dresser, Monica 
glanced fearfully into the mirror. She turned away in 
dismay. She certainly looked queer. She wouldn’t her- 
self have known what was the matter, but her mother was 


IN PENNY LANE 


65 


so old she would understand at a glance. She shuddered 
at the call to tea. Perhaps mother would tell her right 
off that she wasn’t going to keep her. 

But nothing was said. Monica sat very quietly in her 
place, eating scarcely anything. The Smiths did not, how- 
ever, notice it as they would naturally have done. For 
Mrs. Smith could not swallow a morsel of food herself 
and her husband was anxious about her. She had not 
mentioned the shock and hurt she had received that after- 
noon ; but he saw that she was pale and could not eat. 

‘^Clara, are you ill?” he asked her finally. 

‘‘Why, Will, of course I’m not. Why do you ask?” she 
returned nervously. 

Monica looked up fearfully. She said to herself she 
was troubled about the bother of getting her back to the 
city. 

“What have you been doing with yourself this after- 
noon while Monica and I were sporting at Wenham?” 
Mr. Smith asked. 

“Nothing in particular. Will,” she replied. “I went 
over to the Langleys’ and ” 

She seemed to choke, though she hadn’t touched any- 
thing on her plate. Suddenly she rose from the table. 

“I’ll go lie down. I am — a little upset,” she said. 
“But you and Monica eat your supper. Will. Don’t you 
come until you are through.” 

Her husband insisted upon going with her, however, 
and he did not come back at once. 

Monica sat motionless for some time. Dusk had fallen 
when she rose and moved about softly, clearing the table 
as she had seen her mother do. She put the china and 
silver in the pan and would have washed it but she could 


66 


THE NEWCOMER 


not lift the kettle. As she was wondering if she could 
pour the water out into a dipper, Mrs. Smith came out. 

‘‘Well, what a good little girl!” he exclaimed, patting! 
her shoulder. “The table all cleared and the dishes in the 
pan 1 ril light up and then I’ll wash ’em and you can dry 
’em just as you do for mother.” 

Monica looked at him wonderingly. He called her a 
good girl. Mother hadn’t told him then, that she was a 
liar and she was going to send her back. She hadn’t told 
him what was the matter with her. 

Mr. Smith saw her troubled look. “Your mother feels 
tired and upset,” he said kindly, “but she will feel all 
right by morning, I am sure.” 

“Is she — mad ?” asked Monica wretchedly. 

“Angry, you mean? Why no. She may be indignant 
because ” 

But he stopped, not knowing how to explain. 

“At me, you mean?” Monica asked sadly. 

“Of course not, dear,” Mr. Smith said decidedly. 
^Then suddenly he looked sharply at the child. A sus- 
picion came into his mind. He could hardly believe it, yet 
he could not dismiss it. He thought it over as they 
worked together in silence. When they had finished he 
took Monica into the living-room and sat down with her. 

“I’ll tell you what happened to your mother, Monica, 
to use her up,” he said. “She was over to the parsonage 
when a lady came to call, bringing a dear little baby. As 
soon as this lady saw your mother, she took her baby and 
rushed out into the kitchen and gave it to Bell to hold 
tight. She was afraid to let mother see it — ^afraid she 
would hurt it! Fancy! Someone had told her that 
mother hated babies as people hate snakes, and she didn’t 


IN PENNY LANE 67 

dare trust it in the room with mother — ^your gentle^ 
loving mother, Monica !” 

“0-o*o!’^ cried Monica and covered her face with her 
hands. 

“What is it, Monica?” he asked gently. 

“Oh, I feel as if I would die ! I feel as if I were dying 
right nowl And that isn’t a lie, it’s the truth. And — 
and — everybody’ll be glad of it!” the child cried wildly. 
And before Mr. Smith could put his arm about her, she 
had fled from the room. Rushing up-stairs, she flung 
herself on her bed and sobbed bitterly. 


CHAPTER XII 


O H, Joey, I don’t suppose you will ever believe any- 
thing I say again ?” asked Monica sadly. 

Before she went to sleep the night before, she had told 
her father and mother everything, they had talked it over 
and she had been forgiven. To-day, she was starting out 
anew. But first she must make things right with others 
so far as she might. And she came to the parsonage early. 

Joe wasn’t surprised. His father had said to him last 
night that, no matter who had told him, what he had heard 
and believed of Mrs. Smith was utterly untrue and very, 
very unfair to one of the gentlest and kindest women in 
the world. He had felt very badly about that and about 
Monica’s falsehood. But though he was paler than ever 
this morning, no one knew that he had cried himself to 
sleep. 

“Yes, Monica, I shall believe you just the same as ever,” 
he assured her. “You will be all the more likely to — ^not 
to do it again.” 

“Do you think it was very, very dreadful, Joey?” she 
asked anxiously. 

“It was pretty bad while it lasted,” he owned. 

“Father thought it was worse because it made people 
think mother was such a wicked woman, but mother said 
no, a lie is a lie. And she knows I never once thought of 

68 


IN PENNY LANE 69 

anything like that, and I said it because I feel so not to 
have a real mother and father like everybody else.” 

“Poor Monica, it is sad,” Joe said softly. 

“What is sad? Not having real parents?” she 
demanded. 

He nodded. 

“Do you mean you^d feel perfectly awful if your 
parents had adopted you?” she asked. 

“Oh, Monica, don’t speak of it,” he begged. “I 
couldn’t bear it.” 

Monica buried her face in her hands. Joe put his hand 
gently on her head. 

“Don’t cry, Monica. And don’t feel so badly. It’s a 
lot better than none at all, anyhow, isn’t it? And now 
that it’s all over, you’ll be so happy you won’t think of 
it,” he said. 

“Yes, Joey, so I will,” Monica declared, uncovering 
her face quickly and drying her eyes with her pocket 
handkerchief. Her face lighted up, then sobered again. 

“I will be, but not yet,” she declared gloomily. “I have 
got something dreadful to go through with first. I’ve got 
to go tell Mrs. Cartwright and Anna Miller about it.” 

“Oh, dear!” cried Joe anxiously; “must you, Monica?” 

“Yes, I must. But I ought to. It’s like the story in 
that old book of your mother that says at the end : 

what a tangled web we weave. 

When first we practise to deceive.’ ” 

“I wish I could do it for you, Monica,” he said hope- 
fully. 

“So do I, but it wouldn’t be brave for me to let you,” 
said Monica sadly. “I don’t mind Mrs. Cartwright very 


70 


THE NEWCOMER 


much. I don’t know her very well. But I’m so ashamed 
to have beautiful Anna Miller know. And oh, that awful 
Ruddy! She’ll think I’m just as bad as she is, and I’m 
not. She’s bad all the time, and I have been nothing but 
a comfort and a joy to my parents ever since I came 
until now. Oh, dear, if only Ruddy would be over to 
her grandfather’s!” 

Joe looked at Monica sympathetically. As he looked, 
he saw what it was that made her seem thin and long- 
legged and strange. He had been aware all the time that 
Monica looked different, but had supposed it was because 
she felt so badly. Now he saw that she had on a frock 
he had never seen, which looked very ugly. 

“Are you going to wear that when you go?” he asked, 
touching the skirt. 

“Yes, Joey, I’m going to wear it all day,” she said. 
“It’s one I had before I came here. I thought mother 
would never speak to me again. I thought I’d have to 
go back to New York, so I got this out to wear. I didn’t 
want her to think I was a thief too.” 

“You weren’t going away without saying good-bye to 
anyone, were you, Monica?” Joe enquired. 

“I was going to say good-bye to you. And perhaps 
you could have gone to the station with me,” she said. 

“But how could you go alone on the cars?” he asked 
wonderingly. 

“It’s easy enough. Just get in the cars and go right 
along. Only I don’t think I would have had money 
enough even for half fare.” 

“I’ve got two banks full. I would have given it to 
you. But I am so glad you aren’t going, Monica. It’s 


IN PENNY LANE 


71 


hard enough having to lose Anna next month/’ Joe de- 
clared. 

I That comforted Monica. But presently she drew a 
long sigh. 

“I might as well start for the Hollow and get it over/’ 
, she said soberly. 

But Joe was troubled about Ruddy. If Monica looked 
sober and downcast, it would be like Ruddy to take the 
chance to tease her. 

‘‘Cousin Ruddy likes pretty things. She might be nicer 
*■ if you wore something your mother made you,” he sug- 
■ gested. 

“Never mind if she isn’t nice. It serves me right,” 
returned Monica fiercely. “And she isn’t worse than I 
I am. She isn’t so bad, not half. I don’t believe she ever 
I made her mother cry.” 

“Grown ladies don’t cry except when someone is dead,” 
yi Joe observed. 

Iff “They do in the city,” said Monica. “They just scream 
^sometimes there. And my mother’s eyes looked as if she 
had cried last night.” 

Joe sighed deeply. “Well, it’s all over now,” he said 
presently. “There’s a song Bell sings about ‘Weeping 
may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ 
Let’s go ask her to sing it now.” 

Monica clasped her hands. “Oh, Joey, how splendid!” 
she exclaimed. “That will give me spirit to finish every- 
! thing up. The very minute she’s through I’ll dash right 
: over to the South Hollow and tell them all.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


R uddy Cartwright was younger than Monica, 
. but she was as tall and larger, and looked almost 
as old. Few people thought her pretty, but no one could 
deny that she was picturesque. She was an erect, strong- 
looking child with a mop of dark-red hair hanging to her 
shoulders and big, odd-looking, reddish-brown eyes. Her 
cheeks were freckled as well as her saucy nose. She 
looked as if she were brimming over with energy and 
with mischief — as she was. 

Her twin brother looked like her, and yet unlike. They 
were of the same height, but he was thinner and did not 
look so strong. His hair was exactly the same shade and 
quite as thick. He wore it longer than most boys of his 
age, because his twin sister was eager to have him play 
football as soon as he was old enough to be allowed to. 
He had nearly as many freckles as Ruddy, but his nose 
was straight, his mouth was sweet instead of saucy, and 
if he had mischief in him it didn’t show as hers did. But 
people in Farleigh said that the only reason he got into 
so many scrapes was because his sister led him into them. 
And their parents felt very much the same 

As Monica approached the house where they spent the 
summers, the twins were standing at the gate watching 
for their grandfather Miller. As Ruddy caught sight of 
the little girl from next door to the parsonage, she quickly 
pulled out something she had ready to surprise her grand- 
father with. A lady who had called on her mother last 


72 


IN PENNY LANE 


73 


winter had used a lorgnette, greatly to Ruddy’s curiosity 
and amusement. She had made a clever imitation of one 
out of some willow twigs and wire, and now she held 
it before her eyes in the haughty way of the caller, and 
stared at Monica Smith through it. 

“Dear me! And who is this little girl in rags and 
tatters?” she exclaimed in an affected tone that was very 
much like that of the owner of the real lorgnette. “This 
must be the little orphant child Mr. and Mrs. Smith have 
took in.” 

Ignoring her, Monica turned to the boy. 

“Halloo, Buddy 1 Is your mother in ?” she asked. 

“Yep,” he said. 

“She’s in, but she’s — she’s a — she’s indisposed,” said 
Ruddy. “That means she can’t see anybody. Want to 
stay here and play with us, Monica?” 

“I didn’t come to play. And anyhow, when I play, I 
like girls and boys my own age, and I’ve got enough 
right near home. When I come to the South Hollow, I 
come to see older people, same as Joe does,” said Monica, 
and turned again to Buddy. 

“Is Anna Miller home, then?” she asked. 

“Her home is over at grandpa’s,” said Ruddy quickly, 
“and you’ve got lots of cheek, Monica Smith, to call my 
aunt Anna Miller, and you an orphant. When she’s visit- 
ing us, all the college professors at the college where my 
father teaches, even those with grey hair, call her Miss 
Miller. And if you didn’t come to play, what made you 
wear that ugly dress?” 

Monica made a sudden movement and darted through 
the gate. Running up the walk, she saw Mrs. Cartwright 
sitting sewing on the verandah with the baby asleep in a 


74 


THE NEWCOMER 


perambulator beside her. Some people called Mrs. Cart- 
wright’s hair red, too, but it was exactly the colour of 
the silk shoestrings in her brown ties, and looked brown 
like the pretty gown she wore. She looked so sweet and 
serene that Monica took heart. But before she could 
speak. Ruddy was beside her. 

“Mother, here’s a caller, Harmonica Smith!” cried 
Ruddy. 

Mrs. Cartwright smiled. “Harmony must be her 
name, dear,” she said, and Ruddy screamed with laughter. 

“It’s Monica,” said the child desperately. She didn’t 
know what she should ever do. For not only would she 
be quite unable to say what she had to say before Ruddy, 
but she would be likely to fly into a rage and do something 
shocking. 

But Mrs. Cartwright, after taking her hand kindly, 
saying how glad she was to see her and drawing her 
down on the bench with her, turned to her little daughter. 

“Why, Ruddy! Is that the way you treat a little girl 
who comes to play with you?” she asked reproachfully. 

“She didn’t come to play with me ; she came to see you. 
She wouldn’t even speak to me !” cried Ruddy. 

“Very well. Then you go back with Buddy, and Mon- 
ica and I will have a nice visit together,” said her mother. 

“But I want to hear!” cried Ruddy. “I’ll sit right 
here on this step like this.” 

As her mother frowned, a gentleman in a linen suit 
came around the house. He was tall and handsome, but 
even to Monica he looked more like a boy than like 
Ruddy’s father. But his action proved him to be her 
father. 

“You can come out to the shop with me. Ruddy,” he 


IN PENNY LANE 


75 


said calmly. He waited a moment, then, as she did not 
move but looked as if she were on the point of escaping, 
picked her up so firmly that she couldn’t even squirm and 
carried her off into a small red brick building at a little 
distance from the house. 


CHAPTER XIV 


“y GUESS if Ruddy wasn’t your own little girl, she 
i wouldn’t dass act like that — dare, I mean,” ob- 
served Monica with a sigh. 

Mrs. Cartwright smiled. 

‘‘Ruddy wouldn’t be Ruddy if she didn’t always behave 
as naughty as she knew how — as if she had been brought 
up in a saw-mill, as they used to say when I was a little 
girl,” she declared. 

Monica sighed. 

“I’m only adopted, myself,” she remarked. 

“I remember now,” said Mrs. Cartwfight, “but 

“I was just a fresh-air child,” Monica went on. But 
at that moment, the screen door opened and Anna Miller 
came out. Her skin was white, her cheeks pink, her hair 
the loveliest pale gold, and her eyes like the blue gentians 
Mr. Langley and Joe had brought in a day or two since. 
She looked as beautiful, too, in her blue checked morning 
gown as she did in the choir at church on Sundays, and 
Monica forgot everything as she stared at her. 

“Why, here’s Monica Smith ! How do you do, 
Monica,” Anna said as warmly as she would have greeted 
a grown person. 

Monica had risen politely. “Thank you, I am pretty 
well. Miss Miller,” she said. 

“Miss Miller ! Dear me. Why do you call me that all 
of a sudden? Are you mad at me, Monica?” Anna asked 
gayly. 


76 


IN PENNY LANE 


77 


Monica hesitated. She couldn’t say that Ruddy had 
bade her call her so. But the thought of Ruddy recalled 
what she had said about her old frock. What would Anna 
Miller think of her? Then she remembered why she 
wore it. 

“No, I’m not mad at you, but you will be at me and so 
will Mrs. Cartwright, as soon as you know,” she said 
sadly. 

Mrs. Cartwright looked surprised. But Monica saw 
the pink colour deepen in Anna Miller’s cheeks and a 
sweet light shine from her eyes. 

“Indeed I shan’t and my sister won’t either !” she cried 
warmly. “I understand what you mean. You told Joey 
that fish story about your mother having an antipathy to 
babies, but you hardly knew what you were doing, and 
you’re sorry now and have come down here to own up 
like a little man. Of course you never dreamed of its 
coming down so hard'on your mother, did you, dear?” 

“Oh, no, Anna Miller, never, never!” cried Monica. 
“I didn’t once think of that. Only it seemed so dreadful 
not to have your father and mother really yours, and never 
to have even known them till you were nine. And it 
seemed worse with Joey, his are so very real, so I told 
him mine were too, only mother couldn’t bear the sight of 
babies and left me up in Vermont with her sister so I 
wouldn’t give her the creeps.” 

Anna took the little girl in her arms. 

“Well, it’s all in the past now, and we’re all mighty 
thankful,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll never tell a wrong 
story again, and that’s a good thing to be sure of. And 
if I had been more sensible, it wouldn’t have been so bad. 
I am ashamed of myself for not having my wits about 


78 


THE NEWCOMER 


me. My sister wasn’t to blame, being the darling baby’s 
mother. She and your mother suffered innocently. But 
I know your mother understands and loves you just the 
same.” 

‘‘She seems too,” said Monica soberly. 

“And don’t think anything more about her not being 
your real mother,” said Mrs. Cartwright gently. “I don’t 
believe it makes any difference at all. I know a child 
that was adopted when it was about a year old who is now 
as old as you and doesn’t know that its parents aren’t its 
own. You wouldn’t know either, nor anyone else, they 
all love one another so dearly.” 

“Oh, is it someone in Penny Lane?” cried Monica 
eagerly. 

“We ought not to say where this child lives,” said Anna 
quietly. “And Monica, you must remember that my 
sister lives in the city in the winter and knows lots of 
people there. The child she speaks of might be the child 
of one of the college professors or of someone who goes 
to their church, you know.” 

“I wish I knew someone that was,” remarked Monica. 

At that moment Mr. Miller came up the walk. 

“Ruddy can’t go with you this morning, pa, she’s with 
her father in the shop,” said Mrs. Cartwright, “and 
Buddy won’t go without her.” 

“But here’s Monica Smith, whom you know, going 
right your way,” said Anna. “And, pa, here’s a capital 
chance to tell your favourite story. Did you ever hear 
how Mr. Cartwright rescued a pussy-cat when he was a 
little boy, Monica ?” 

“Was he Reuben asked Monica. 

“The very same,” said Anna. 


IN PENNY LANE 


79 


“I just heard the beginning. Mr. Langley started to 
tell me yesterday while I was waiting for father to drive 
up with the carriage to go to Wenham, and he had just 
got to the place where the little boy finds out in the Bible 
that there was a proportion for Reuben when father 
came.*' 

“Well, let pa tell you,’* said Anna. “He’s had no end 
of practise and he tells it first rate even if he is my father. 
Good bye, dear. We’ll see you soon, for we’re going to 
bring the baby over to your house within a few days.” 


CHAPTER XV 


“TTTE won’t hurry the horse, and then there’ll be 
▼ ▼ plenty of time to tell the story properly,” said 
Seth Miller as he took up the reins and started in the direc- 
tion of Penny Lane. “How far was it you said Mr. 
Langley got?” 

“O, hardly any ways. Do please begin at the very be- 
ginning, Mr. Miller, for I love stories and true ones are 
so rare,” begged Monica eagerly. And then she flushed, 
remembering the story she had told Joey. And she began 
to understand that her punishment wouldn’t be wholly 
over, even after she had taken off the old frock. 

“Well, it is more satisfactory as you might say to begin 
at the beginning,” he said in a pleased way. “At that 
time, Reuben was a little shaver. I call him Reuben, for 
he’s always Reuben to me, though I explain to strangers 
that he’s Professor Cartwright. But I could hardly call 
him that in a story, now could I ?” 

Monica laughed. “No, indeed, Mr. Miller. But please 
hurry and begin or else I shall be stopped right in the 
middle. ‘At the time the story begins, Reuben was a little 
shaver.’ Now go on, ’’she ordered. 

“He was living at the parsonage, but temporarily, as 
you might say. His mother was dead, and he was thought 
to be an orphan until he was almost a man grown when 
his father came back, — you see him Sundays playing the 
church organ, and a sweeter player never was, so far as 
I know. Well, this little shaver I speak of was feeling 
sort of low-spirited one morning, when he came upon a 

80 


IN PENNY LANE 


81 


verse in the Bible that went something like this: ‘There 
shall be a portion for Reuben/ That cheered him up and 
whilst he was a- wondering what his good fortune was to 
be, the parson called him down stairs and there was Miss 
Penny. Miss Penny was one of the most remarkable 
ladies that ever lived in these parts and what you might 
call a universal favorite. Folks thought so highly of her 
that when she died they named the lane betwixt your house 
and the Lees* after her, and then pretty soon everybody 
was calling that whole end of Farleigh Penny Lane. And 
so it is to this day. Well, Miss Penny lived in the house 
you have just left which she bequeathed to Reuben — I 
should say Professor Cartwright — ^besides goodly sums 
and remembrances to all her friends of which I was proud 
to be one. She came to Mr. Langley that morning to ask 
for help for a poor old white tramp cat that had been 
chased by dogs and ran clean to the tip-top of a pine tree 
that was a sapling when Christopher Columbus discovered 
the U. S. A. in — ^what year was it?** 

“1492,** said Monica promptly. They always called it 
‘Merica* instead of U. S. A. at school, but she knew it 
wasn*t nice to correct older people unless they especially 
desired it, as Big Bell did. 

“Well, that poor creature had been up that tree three 
days and dassn*t come down. She’d look down, you 
know, and maybe start, then she’d shrink back scared. 
She mewed and mewed, but by the time Miss Penny 
heard about her, her voice was very feeble. Nobody 
knew what to do, because the tree doesn’t begin to branch 
until it*s as high as the top of some trees — that bass-wood 
right there, for example. So Miss Penny took a trip over 
to Wenham to try to get the telegraph-pole men to come 


82 


THE NEWCOMER 


over. But the company wouldn’t do it though she agreed 
to pay ’em whatever they cared to ask. She was always 
liberal, Miss Penny was. So she turned to Mr. Langley 
in her trouble and all of a sudden he thought of Reuben. 
So Reuben went back to the Hollow with Miss Penny 
and to the common where the tree was and the cat, and 
bless your heart, my dear, he was at the top of that tree 
in no time at all! It was no cinch, either, to get up to 
where the branches begin, for the trunk was like glass. 
He shinned almost up to the place where he could have 
caught hold three times and slipped way back. But the 
fourth time, he grabbed at a branch, caught it and was up 
to the top like a spider.” 

They were stopping now at the Smiths’ house, but 
Monica couldn’t get out. 

‘‘And he got the cat?” she cried eagerly. 

“He got her. And how do you think he brought her 
down?” he asked and answered himself. “To save time. 
I’ll tell you that he took off his little blouse and made a 
bag of it and slung her over his back. Then he could 
use both hands, you see, and he slid down in style and 
handed over the pussy-cat to Miss Penny like the little 
gentleman he always was.” 

Springing from the buggy, he lifted Monica out. 

“Thank you many times, Mr. Miller,” she said warmly. 
“It’s a wonderful story and you told it beautifully.” 

“I have told it more than once or even twice,” he 
owned. “My girls laugh at me because they think I like 
to tell it, but as a matter of fact, I never tell it twice alike, 
I adapt it to the one as is listening, as the books would 
put it.” 


IN PENNY LANE 83 

“What became of the cat?” Monica asked as he climbed 
into the buggy. “Did she survive?” 

“She certainly did and found a good home with Miss 
Penny for the rest of her days. She grew to be a fine, 
large cat and Miss Penny liked her all the better for being 
stone deaf, for she never caught any birds,” he answered 
and drove on. 

“O, dear, I never asked him her name,” said Monica to 
herself in disappointment. But Mr. Langley would know, 
and there he was now out on the verandah. She ran over. 

“O Mr. Langley !” she cried and then suddenly remem- 
bered that she hadn^t seen him since yesterday. 

“Yes, Monica?” he said kindly. 

“I forgot. I came over to ask you something, only — 
perhaps you won’t want me to. You were in your study 
when I came this morning. Joey thought you wouldn’t 
be mad at me, but he wasn’t sure.” 

Mr. Langley smiled. “He might have been sure,” he 
declared. “Mrs. Langley told me, and I quite understand 
and everything is all right now. And what was it you 
wished to ask me, Monica ?” 

“What was the cat’s name that Miss Penny adopted, 
please?” she asked. 

“Mrs. Tramp,” he said, “and a lucky tramp she was, 
too.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


M onica and joe had walked over to see the school 
building a number of times, but she did not see the 
inside until the first day of school. Miss Hatch's room, 
where she and Joe were, was the pleasantest school room 
she had ever seen. It looked cleaner and more home-like 
than the city school she had attended. It was lighter, the 
air was sweeter and fresher, and it made no difference 
which window one looked out through, one always saw 
green trees and almost always blue sky. And even when 
the sky wasn’t blue, it was never dingy. When the day was 
cloudy, the sky was pearl colour or dove colour, and when 
it rained it was a clean, soft grey. 

Miss Hatch, the teacher, was a pretty, brown-eyed girl 
who was even more attractive than the teachers who had 
been the only persons Monica had had to admire and imi- 
tate before she came to Farleigh. She very kindly gave 
Monica a seat across the aisle from Joe in the rear of the 
room. Monica felt that she would keep it all the year, 
for she meant to be very good. She had always wanted 
to be good in school but now she had an additional incen- 
tive. She must be so good that no one could possibly pity 
her father and mother for making a mistake in adopting 
her and Miss Hatch would forget that she hadn’t been 
born in Farleigh like the others. 

When Miss Hatch asked her full name, age and birth- 
'day to put down in her record book, Monica did not, as 
she longed to do, ask her in return how old she was. She 
felt doubtful as to whether it was the sort of question 

84 


IN PENNY LANE 


85 


one may ask in school, so she waited for recess. Ruddy 
Cartwright had told her something very queer in regard 
to Miss Hatch and Monica believed and rather hoped that 
it was a lie. But Joe had told her more than once that 
Ruddy always spoke the truth. It seemed hardly fair to 
Monica that a child who was so naughty and mischievous 
that people dreaded to see her coming should have read 
as many books already as Joe Langley, should be able to 
do sums and even subtraction in her head, and should 
possess the one virtue which Monica’s parents and Joe 
and Big Bell and almost everybody considered best of all. 

When the bell rang and the other children poured out 
into the corridor and the playground, Monica went rather 
timidly to the teacher’s desk. 

‘‘Miss Hatch, I am — sort of puzzled about something. 
Somebody I know may have told me what wasn’t so. 
She’d prob’ly say she was just fooling, but — would you 
please tell me how old you are?” 

“Certainly, Monica,” said Miss Hatch smiling. “I 
don’t mind, and if I did, it would be useless, for I grew up 
in the Hollow and everybody knows my age. It isn’t 
usually, however, a good thing to do to ask older people 
how old they are. If they wish you to know, they will tell 
you of their own accord. In this case it’s different. I 
suppose Ruddy Cartwright told you that I have had only 
five birthdays since my first. It’s true, but it is because I 
was born on an unusual day — a very unusual day. Can 
you guess what it was ?” 

“Fourth of July?” 

“That is a special day but not an unusual one for it 
comes every year just as much as the fourth of Septem- 
ber. There’s one that’s rarer, though it isn’t so impor- 


86 


THE NEWCOMER 


tant as that nor nearly so important as Christmas/’ said 
Miss Hatch. “Now guess again.” 

Monica tried to think of all the different holidays. She 
named the months to see if she could recall more, and then 
she said the rhyme that goes with them : 

“Thirty days hath September, 

April, June and November, 

All the rest have thirty-one, 

Excepting February alone 
Which hath but twenty-eight in fine 
Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.” 

Before she had finished, Monica’s face lighted up. “O 
Miss Hatch, I know!” she cried. “Your birthday is the 
twenty-ninth of February and so you only have it once 
in four years.” 

“That’s it. Isn’t it sad? People have pitied me all 
my life for having to wait so long between birthdays and 
parties and presents. Aren’t you sorry for me, Monica ?” 
Miss Hatch asked gayly. 

“I’m sorry if you mind it,” replied Monica seriously. 
“But it wouldn’t seem sad to me because until I came 
here to live, I didn’t know that birthdays made any differ- 
ence except George Washington’s. And I didn’t care for 
holidays because I loved to go to school, and as it was I 
was kep’ out a lot to mind babies.” 

“Well, you will find out now that birthdays mean a 
greal deal, and you’re lucky to have so many coming to 
you before you grow up,” declared Miss Hatch. “Your 
tenth birthday will be so happy that it will make up for 
those you have lost. As for me, I haven’t needed the 
pity I have received at all. I don’t believe anyone in Far- 


IN PENNY LANE 


87 


leigh has enjoyed his birthdays all taken together more 
than I have mine all taken together. The one I had while 
I was in the academy came on a Thursday and Mr. Phil- 
lips, Meta’s father, you know, allowed us to have a party 
that night, and right in examination time, when other- 
wise we never could have them excepting Fridays or Sat- 
urdays.” 

As Joe entered the room to fetch Monica, the little girl 
looked shyly up to her teacher. 

“Pm glad on the whole that Ruddy isn’t a liar,” she 
said. ‘‘But I can’t help being glad she doesn’t come to 
our school.” 

Miss Hatch smiled. “Ruddy’s just a little wild animal 
now, but she’ll be better when she grows older. She’s 
so large for her age and so bright, that she seems much 
older than she is and that makes her seem naughtier. She 
is warm-hearted and she can be sweet and we that love 
her mother feel sure that she’s coming out all right. Her 
mother and I went through the academy together.” 

She turned to Joe. “You have come to get Monica to 
go out to play, I know. That’s right,” she said. “What 
are they starting with this year, Joey?” 

Joe told her it was Pom, pom, pull-away, and the chil- 
dren rushed out and joined the game. 

Joe was so quiet at home that Monica was surprised 
that he should play the lively running games at school as 
well as the more sedate ones like London Bridge and On 
the Green Carpet. As a matter of fact, Joe had only 
joined in the vigorous games in the first place because his 
father had wished him to do as the other children did. 
But he was used to it now and really enjoyed it for the 
short period the recesses allowed. He was too sensitive 


88 


THE NEWCOMER 


and generous to have the spirit of rivalry in the slightest 
degree, and in games where a single person might be the 
winner, Joe Langley never beat. But he bore his part 
very creditably in the general games, and perhaps he was 
better liked than if he had always been first. 

Monica was also surprised at that. She hadn’t ex- 
pected Joe to be a favourite at all at school. She herself 
liked him better than anyone else excepting her father and 
mother and she enjoyed his society even more than theirs. 
All older people, of course, liked him immensely. Anna 
Miller seemed to think as much of him as if he were just 
her age. She seemed to like him as well as she liked her 
sister and much better than she liked Ruddy or even 
Buddy. And Monica’s father and mother were the same, 
and no grown person that came to the parsonage felt 
satisfied to go away without seeing Joe. 

And yet, children very often did not care for the same 
people their elders liked, and almost always they disliked 
children so good as to be held up as models before them. 
And Joe was good. He was so good that Big Bell had 
confided to Monica her fear that he would never live to 
grow up. Nevertheless, the children really liked him, 
liked him warmly. The roughest little boy in school 
(who would hardly, however, have seemed rough at all 
in the schools Monica had attended before) was always 
hanging round Joey, bringing him presents or sharing 
apples and pears with him, even giving him the good half 
when one was wormy. 

Monica pondered a great deal over this situation dur- 
ing the first weeks of school. Finally she decided that 
the only reason that Joe was a favourite in the face of 
tradition was that he didn’t seem like a little boy at all. 


IN PENNY LANE 


89 


He was really like a grown person, and of course one 
liked grown persons all the more for being good — the 
gooder the better, as Monica put it to herself. At the 
same time, he was a little boy too. He was of a better 
size to mingle with children than real grown people, and 
he understood things children talked about much better. 
So it wasn’t perhaps surprising, after all, that the min- 
ister’s little boy was something of a favourite. 


CHAPTER XVII 


M onica smith was new to the village, but all the 
children in her school were new that year to that 
iroom, so that she didn’t feel strange and alone as she might 
have done if she had entered in the midst of a term. The 
other new scholar, however, did not make his appearance 
until the second day of school. By that time, all the others 
felt as settled as if they had been at school for v/eeks, 
and Tommy Jennings felt a stranger indeed. 

Mr. Jennings had only learned late Sunday night that 
he had to make special arrangements in order to have 
Tommy attend school out of his own district, and he had 
to settle that matter on Monday. He planned to get 
the little boy into Penny Lane early on Tuesday morning 
so that he could go to school with Essie, but when he drove 
up to the side door. Tommy was not to be found. He 
waited more than twenty minutes, and when the boy 
finally appeared, his boots were wet through and his 
satchel had to be unpacked to get out his old ones and a 
pair of stockings. For, at the last minute. Tommy had 
gone in search of Pedro to say good bye, and had had to 
go to the cow pasture to find him. 

His father, who was anxious to get back home again 
as he had a great deal of work to do and the older boys 
were all in school again, was vexed with the little boy. 
He did not scold him, because Tommy was going away 
from home for the first time, but he hardly spoke to him 
all the way. Such neglect on the part of his father seemed 


90 


IN PENNY LANE 


91 


to add the last touch to Tommy’s unhappiness. Pedro 
hadn’t seemed to care at all that he was going away, and 
he hadn’t been allowed to kiss his mother or even to peep 
at her through the door. She had fallen asleep during the 
time he had spent in search of Pedro. Aunt Hannah said 
it served him right, for if he had been ready at the time 
his father had bidden him, his mother would have been 
awake. Before he was out of sight of the farm it seemed 
to him that there was nothing in the world he wanted or 
would ever want except to have night come. 

It was past nine when they reached the Lees', so Mr. 
Jennings drove on to the school. He took Tommy to 
Miss Hatch’s room, introduced him and explained that 
he was to stay in Penny Lane and go to school until 
Thanksgiving and hoped that she would find him a good 
boy. Then he went out leaving Tommy alone in the midst 
of what seemed to him thousands of strangers, feeling 
very small and forlorn. 

Miss Hatch was very kind, gave him a seat and some 
books and said she would show him about his lessons as 
soon as she had a moment. Her classes had already begun 
and she couldn’t for some time give the new scholar as 
much attention as she would have liked to give. She felt 
the more concerned for she did not know the Jennings 
family and thought by his appearance that Tommy’s 
parents must be poor. She was sorry for the boy because 
it happened that all the other children in the room be- 
longed to families in comfortable circumstances, were 
well dressed and had the appearance of being well-cared 
for. She said to herself she would see if she couldn’t 
find some boots and a neck-tie at least for the child that 
very night after school. 


92 


THE NEWCOMER 


Miss Hatch was wrong; but certainly Tommy Jennings 
looked almost as forlorn as he felt. During his mother's 
illness, his clothing had fallen into a sad state. Since the 
decision had been made to send Tommy into Farleigh, 
she had been too ill to think anything about preparations, 
and it had not occurred to anyone else. Aunt Hannah 
had been too much occupied with the nursing, and Mr. 
Jennings never gave the matter of clothing a thought. 
At the last minute, Clayton, as he stuffed whatever clothes 
he found in the drawers of Tommy’s dresser into a 
satchel, said to himself that it was a rum lot of duds, but 
he concluded that Aunt Lena would make things right. 
The night before he had laid out the best Tommy had to 
be put on in the morning, but he had been too busy to in- 
spect him before he himself was off to school. 

Tommy’s hair hadn’t been touched with a brush since 
his mother had been ill and hardly with a comb. His 
face was clean, but he didn’t have the look of shining 
cleanliness of the other children. His boots were shock- 
ing and his stockings wrinkled. His jacket and trousers 
looked older than they were, and were not spotless. His 
blouse was clean but lacked a button and he wore no tie, 
the last two he owned having been spoiled by serving as 
bonnet strings. 

As soon as her class was over. Miss Hatch showed 
him where all the lessons were, but she said he need not 
recite today but might listen to the others so as to be 
ready for tomorrow. Tommy looked sadly at the printed 
pages, but he could not study and he could not make sense 
out of anything the others said. His throat felt swollen 
and aching and his mind all in a tumult. He tried not to 
think of the farm or of his mother or Pedro, but there 


IN PENNY LANE 


93 


seemed to be nothing cheerful that he could think of. He 
hadn^t supposed he could ever have wished himself back 
in that district school that was composed largely of girls. 
Nevertheless, he would have given much to be sitting at 
his old desk in the little schoolhouse on the turnpike with 
girls on all sides. For there were altogether too many 
boys here, and such horrid, clean-looking boys, too. They 
didn't look as if they could play anything more lively 
than On the Green Carpet, and he bet a cent not one of 
them owned a dog. And the minister's boy looked just 
exactly like a girl. Tommy felt that if his throat were all 
right he would have wanted to pull his white hair for him, 
but he didn't care about anything now. And there were 
lots and lots of girls, too, and they were worse. Worst 
of all was Essie who never once glanced at him. He 
would have expected her to look at him proudly as if she 
saw his muscle through his jacket and to hold up her 
head as if to say. That's my cousin and he’s going to 
stay at my house.' 

After a very long time, recess came. Tommy didn't 
want to go out of doors with the others, but he was afraid 
if he didn’t the teacher would ask him why and his throat 
felt so bad that he wasn't sure he could talk without cry- 
ing. So he went as far as the steps and stopped there. 
The minister's white-haired little boy came back to speak 
to him. 

“Hullo, Tommy. Come and play Prisoner’s Base. 
Will you?” he asked. 

Though the words were those of a boy, the tone and 
manner suggested to Tommy that Joe Langley was what 
Aunt Hannah would call a ‘little gentleman.' He 
shrugged his shoulders. And partly because he really 


94 


THE NEWCOMER 


longed to join in the game, and partly because he didn’t 
wish the other boys to know how his throat ached, he 
replied in a most unpleasant voice : 

‘‘Nope. No baby games for me,” he shouted. And 
Joe went back to the other boys who were choosing sides. 

Tommy watched them sulkily until they began the 
game. Then he turned from the sight quickly and stared 
into space. It was a long, long recess — longer than any 
hour he remembered except once when he had had ear- 
ache. But it came to an end at length. The bell rang, 
and he returned to his seat for another period of torture. 

Before he left home, he had said to himself that he 
would never walk back and forth between Aunt Lena’s 
and the schoolhouse with Essie. To-day, however, he 
thought wouldn’t count, and he decided for the once that 
he would walk home with her. But Essie flew away to 
join a girl the teacher called Meta without so much as 
looking at him, and Tommy went moodily on alone, a few 
rods behind Joe Langley, who didn’t seem to mind at all 
walking home with a little girl instead of a fellow. Tom- 
my didn’t know why he was going to Aunt Lena’s, for he 
couldn’t eat any dinner. But he had to be somewhere 
and he feared that if he tried to remain in the school 
yard he would be sent away. 

Just before he reached the house, he saw little Ruth 
come running to the gate. His sore little heart leaped 
as it came to him that she had been watching for him. 

“O Tommy ! I’m so glad you have come !” she cried, 
holding the gate open. “Come upstairs and I’ll show 
you where you’re going to sleep and where to wash and 
where mother put your pocket-handkerchiefs.” 

Ruth’s fair hair was parted in the middle and hung 
in curls to her shoulders. Tommy hated most curls, but 


IN PENNY LANE 


95 


these were large and loose, and two of them framed her 
little pink round face so prettily that Tommy would have 
liked to pat them gently if he had known how. On the 
stairs the little girl explained that her mother had been 
called to a neighbor’s where the baby was very ill and 
had told her to welcome her cousin and make him feel at 
home. 

“You see Essie wasn’t here, but I was, because I get 
out of school early. I’m only seven,” Ruth said humbly. 

“I’m glad Essie wasn’t — glad as — as anything. I like 
you a lot better, Ruthy,” Tommy declared gratefully. 

His bed was in an alcove of the great chamber shared 
by Charley and George, so that it was like having a room 
to himself except that it wouldn’t be so lonely if he should 
wake in the night. And the wash-room adjoining with 
its white bowl and shining faucets was so attractive that 
for once Tommy didn’t mind the unpleasant task of 
washing his face and hands. Indeed, he rather enjoyed 
it. And when the dinner bell rang, he felt that he might 
eat something after all. 

Mr. Lee, who was a lawyer with an office in Wenham, 
did not come home to dinner, and it was unfortunate that 
Mrs. Lee should have been called away that day, for the 
older children took advantage of her absence. Katy sat 
in her place and tried to maintain order, but though the 
boys had to respect her authority when their mother was 
in the house, she wasn’t able to do anything with them 
on this occasion. Charley and George teased Essie until 
she burst into tears and fled from the room, crying out 
that she would tell her father the very minute he drove 
into the yard that night. They shouted “Papa’s little 
pettum” after her, then when she was out of hearing be- 


96 


THE NEWCOMER 


gan throwing food at each other across the table, laugh- 
ing as heartily to be hit as to hit. They left Tommy 
alone, but they got the two little boys to play they were 
cats and lap their food from their plates. Katy remon- 
strated and scolded and screamed, but they only laughed 
at her, and when she left the table to get the pudding, put 
the plate with the remainder of the biscuit in her chair. 
Returning, Katy, who was very stout, sat down on them, 
greatly to their amusement. While they were still laugh- 
ing, Essie stole in behind George and emptied a tumbler 
of water on his head. George dragged her out to the 
kitchen and held her head under the faucet, and both of 
them had to change their clothes before returning to 
school. 

Ruth and Tommy had been silent spectators, the little 
girl troubled, the boy rather overawed. Tommy had just 
spirit enough to wish Aunt Hannah might have witnessed 
the scene from behind a door. She had told him Sunday 
that the Lees were well-brought-up children and that he 
could, if he would, learn manners from them! 

He and Ruth started back to school together. But she 
had to go back to comfort little Walter, who was sobbing 
bitterly on the back porch because Katy had declared she 
would tell his mother how he had lapped his food, and she 
would probably send him to eat with Farmer Huggins’s 
pigs after this. Tommy didn’t dare to wait for her lest 
he be late, for he felt that he could never walk into that 
school-room with all those clean boys and stuck-up girls 
staring at him. And even more than the forlornness of 
the morning came back upon him. 

Miss Hatch asked him if he would like to recite lessons 
with the others, but he shook his head. She didn’t tell 


IN PENNY LANE 


97 


him to “speak up like a human being.* ^ She only asked 
him yet more kindly if he would rather wait until to-mor- 
row. And Tommy nodded, though he said to himself 
there wouldn’t be any to-morrow. For he couldn’t bear 
it. At recess, he left the grounds unnoticed and set out 
for home. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HAT night when Miss Hatch passed the house on 



her way home from school, Mrs. Lee stood at the 


gate. 


“O Margaret, where is my Tommy-boy?” she asked. 

‘Tommy?” repeated Miss Hatch in a puzzled voice. 

“Tommy Jennings. He's my cousin's little boy and is 
visiting us while his mother is ill. I haven't seen him 
since he came, for I was called away this noon just before 
dinner time. The Patch baby had convulsions and poor 
Mildred was frightened to death.” 

“Dear me, and how is it now?” 

“All right. It was sleeping peacefully when I left at 
two o'clock. But where is Tommy?” . 

“He should have been here half an hour ago,” returned 
Miss Hatch, and added: “I didn't know he was staying 
with you. I'm sorry to say, I didn't notice him as he left 
the school-room. I can't remember anything about the 
child since recess. You see, just afterwards, some people 
from Wenham came in to visit. Fancy choosing the sec- 
ond day of school ! Things weren't very well started and 
I felt rather nervous and forgot all about poor Tommy. 
I meant to talk with him a few minutes right after 
school.” 

“He's probably off playing with the other boys,” Mrs. 
Lee decided. “Well, I won't wait for him. I wanted to 
take him over to Wenham to get him some clothes, but 
I'll measure his old ones and go along, I feel so badly 


IN PENNY LANE 


99 


that I didn’t see him before he went to school this morn- 
ing. His father took him right to school and only stopped 
to leave his satchel on the way back. Essie says he looked 
like a fright, but I suppose she made the fact worse than 
it was, didn’t she?” 

“I got the impression that his parents were poor,” ad- 
mitted Miss Hatch. 

Mrs. Lee looked greatly troubled. “Then he must in- 
deed have looked a fright,” she said. “Dear me. Tommy’s 
father has lots of money. I don’t know that there’s any- 
one in the village who has as much. And his mother 
always kept him immaculate, — that is, he always started 
out so, at least twice a day. But she has been ill for some 
little time, and I daresay the poor little fellow has been 
neglected. I am thankful that he has come to be with us, 
but what a pity for him to start in school handicapped by 
shabby clothes. Children are such little snobs, you know, 
Margaret. At least most of them are. Ruthy isn’t the 
least in the world, but though I have talked myself hoarse 
to Essie, I haven’t yet cured her of snobbishness. Katy 
told me that Essie hadn’t spoken to her little cousin all ^ 
day.” 

Mrs. Lee went upstairs and secured measurements from 
Tommy’s clothes and from his boots, which were still 
damp. The man who drove Mr. Lee back and forth 
went in early to take her and enable her to do her shop- 
ping. She had good luck and was in fine spirits when 
she and Mr. Lee got back just in time for supper. She 
had purchased a complete outfit for Tommy which was 
very satisfactory and was, perhaps, a bit better than she 
would have purchased for her own children. She knew 
that Tommy’s father, if he understood the situation. 


100 


THE NEWCOMER 


would be quite as anxious to have the boy made present- 
able as his mother would be. 

She decided to have Tommy change into some of the 
new things before supper. But when she asked for the 
boy, no one knew anything about him. Ruth said he 
hadn’t been back at all since noon. And she whispered to 
her mother that she thought Tommy was homesick be- 
cause there were tears in his eyes — or almost. 

There were truly tears in Mrs. Lee’s eyes when she re- 
peated this to her husband. It looked as if Tommy had 
gone home. They decided to have supper before doing 
anything. If the boy reached home, his father would 
send them word. If they did not hear by the time supper 
was over, Mr. Lee would drive out to the farm. 


CHAPTER XIX 


S Clayton Jennings busied himself about the evening 



chores after his return from school that Tuesday, 
he was surprised to find himself already missing his little 
brother. Tommy didn’t spend much time even with the 
brother who was most devoted to him. It was only when 
he was sure he would not be asked to help or to run er- 
rands that the lazy little fellow hung around Clayton talk- 
ing to him or bothering him. But Clay missed the sight 
of his active little figure that had unlimited energy for 
play and the sound of his cheerful voice. He didn’t like 
to think of the supper-table without the little boy’s bright, 
mischievous face ; and though he had said to himself that 
it was a bore to have to go up to Tommy’s chamber every 
night, he hardly knew how he was to get through the 
evening without doing so. 

Pedro’s wistful, puzzled behaviour added to Clayton’s 
loneliness. He had just closed and fastened the stable- 
door and was about to make his way to one of the barns 
to help with the milking, when the dog came bounding 
up to him, barking and whining as if he were begging 
a favour. Clayton stopped and patted the shaggy head. 

‘Tedro, old boy, I can’t help you. I can’t do anything 
for you. You’ll have to wait until Friday and then per- 
haps we can get Tommy home for Sunday. Come along 
now with me,” he said. 

But Pedro made a little sally toward the stable, came 
back to Clayton whining and teasing and then repeated 


lOI 


102 


THE NEWCOMER 


the action. The dog was almost as intelligent as he was 
faithful, and Clayton said to himself that he would hu- 
mour him in this one instance when he was on a false 
scent. He went back and unlocked the door, Pedro gam- 
bolling about him so joyfully that he could scarcely shove 
it open. 

The instant he could squeeze in, the dog leaped in and 
began smelling eagerly about the floor. Suddenly he 
stopped before the ladder leading to the hay-mow and be- 
gan to give forth little short, sharp barks. Clayton won- 
dered if he had mistaken Pedro’s signals. Perhaps there 
was a tramp hidden in the hay? He climbed boldly up 
the ladder to investigate. 

He found a tramp, indeed, but a small one, fast asleep 
with tear stains on his rosy cheeks. Raising his little 
brother carefully, Clayton carried him down without 
waking him. But he forgot Pedro, and the moment he 
reached the lowest rung of the ladder, the dog sprang 
joyfully upon them, and Tommy awoke to find Pedro 
licking his face. He put his arms about his neck and 
buried his face in Pedro’s shaggy hair. 

“Thomas Jefferson Jennings! where in the name of 
common sense did you spring from?” demanded his 
brother. Tommy jumped to his feet. 

“From Penny Lane, Clay, and Pve come for good. I 
couldn’t stand it. It’s — O, it’s just awful there, honest 
and true it is,” he cried. And he flung his arms about 
his brother’s neck and hugged him — something he had 
not done since he was a very, very little boy. “Please, 
please. Clay, let me stay home,” he begged. 

“But I’m not the boss you know, old man,” Clayton 
said kindly. 


IN PENNY LANE 


103 


‘Well, you tease father to let me. I’ll be good all the 
time even to Aunt Hannah and so quiet she won’t know 
I’m round. And I’ll bring in all the kindlings and feed 
the chickens and run errands and everything else,” Tom- 
my pleaded. 

‘'Let’s get up in the phaeton and talk things over,” sug- 
gested Clayton, who was trying to think what was best 
to do. So they seated themselves in the comfortable car- 
riage in which Mrs. Jennings drove about, and Pedro es- 
tablished himself at their feet. 

“I’ll never learn any mannerses at Aunt Lena’s except 
bad ones, ’cause none of ’em have any except Ruthy. All 
the others are lots worse than heathens, and Aunt Han- 
nah would say so herself if she could see them. They 
throw buns at each other across the table and eat with 
their tongues like Pedro and pour water down each other’s 
backs,” cried Tommy almost breathlessly. 

“Tommy Jeff! What you giving us?” demanded his 
brother. “Do you mean to tell me that Aunt Lena and 
Uncle George shy biscuits at each other?” 

“They weren’t there,” admitted the little boy reluc- 
tantly. 

“Oho I Then it was only a question of when the cat’s 
away, the mice will play,” returned Clayton. “I’ve been 
there many a time, you know, to dinner or supper, and on 
my word, I never saw children that behaved better. And 
such a raft of ’em, too. Once I said something about it 
to Cousin Esther — the one Essie’s named after — ^and she 
said the reason they behaved so well at home and at school 
was because Aunt Lena began with ’em when they were 
naught but babies. They learn to mind before they can 
walk or talk, so get the habit.” 


104 


THE NEWCOMER 


“They got out of it easy today,” remarked Tommy. 

Clayton laughed. “Anyhow, if you had been taught 
to mind before you left the cradle, you’d be a sight better 
off to-day,” he retorted. “But Tommy, how did it happen 
that Aunt Lena wasn’t there?” 

“Some baby had convolutions,” said Tommy. And 
Clayton laughed again, though he wasn’t hard-hearted. 
Pedro thumped with his tail to express his satisfaction 
with the situation, but it reminded Clay that he ought to 
proceed to business. 

“And so you want to back out after half a day’s trial ?” 
he asked. 

“Not back out,” corrected Tommy. “But I guess I’ll 
stay at home and go to my own school.” 

“If you stay at home, you back out,” Clayton declared 
firmly. “You have a chance to stay with a jolly bunch 
of children in a dandy house with the nicest lady in the 
world next to mother, and to go to a graded school with 
a lot of boys of your own age, and you are foolish to give 
it up without trying it for at least a week. You could 
come home Friday nights if you want, and that would 
make the weeks seem short. And then when you come 
home for good a little later, mother will be up and about 
the house as usual. Aunt Hannah will be gone, but I 
guess you could put up with that, couldn’t you. Tommy 
Jeff?” 

Tommy giggled, and Pedro thumped with his tail. 

“She’ll go a lot sooner and mother’ll get well much 
quicker, you know, if you stay in the village a while,” 
Clayton added. 

“O but Cla)i:on, I wouldn’t make any noise now, you 


IN PENNY LANE 


105 


see. And Pd keep away from Aunt Hannah when I 
could, and be polite when I couldn’t,” Tommy declared. 

“You think you would, but you wouldn’t,” Clayton re- 
turned. “It would all be exactly the same after half a 
day. You’d forget and make a noise. Aunt Hannah’d 
come down on you and mother would be worried. And 
you’d get into worse and worse scrapes at school and grow 
so much more like Aunt Hannah’s heathen that when 
mother got well, weeks and weeks and weeks hence, you’d 
be such a little tough she wouldn’t know you. And Aunt 
Hannah would send you off to China to be with your kin 
the heathen Chinee !” 

Tommy sighed. 

“On the other hand, if you go into Penny Lane every 
week from Monday to Friday and go to school with other 
boys and do nice things for that scrumptious little Ruthy, 
as I know you would, why, you’d be such a first rate chap 
by the time you get back home for good that we’d all throw 
up our caps and shout hurrah. And we’d all be so glad 
to have such a jolly chap around that we’d be trying to 
do jolly things for him all the time and he’d almost think 
every day in the week was Christmas.” 

Tommy’s eyes shone. He clasped his hands tightly. 

“And listen. Tommy. Let me tell you something else. 
Who do you think has bought the Rogers place and will 
move in right after Thanksgiving?” 

“Bobby’s father!” cried Tommy. 

“No, but somebody still better. Guess?” 

“Cousin Fanny Russell’s?” 

“Sure thing. Tommy Jeff!” 

Tommy clapped his hands. It was quite true that he 
liked his cousin Fanny better than any boy. 


106 


THE NEWCOMER 


‘‘O but it’s so long before Thanksgiving ! I wish she 
was coming soon,” he said. 

'Tt wouldn’t seem half so long if you went into Far- 
leigh,” suggested Clayton. ‘'Come, Tommy, buck up. 
Be a man and let me take you back.” 

“Right now?” cried Tommy aghast. 

“Right now,” said Clayton firmly. “And then nobdy 
but you and I and Aunt Lena will know anything about 
it. I’ll explain it to her. Are you game, old man ?” 

Tommy sighed again, more deeply. 

“I’ll tell you what I think would be jolly,” Clayton re- 
marked. “You’ll be home for Thanksgiving and the 
Russells are coming right afterwards. I’ll get mother to 
invite Cousin Fanny to come and spend Thanksgiving 
with us, and perhaps you and I will go to the Junction to 
meet her.” 

“Do I have to walk?” demanded Tommy crossly. 

“Hardly. We’ll go in the buggy. I’ll hitch up old 
Smut right away. But first I’ll go in and get Huldah to 
give me a piece of cake and some doughnuts and you can 
be eating them while you wait. And you can drive all 
the way in.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


W HEN Tommy Jennings returned to the school- 
room on Wednesday afternoon after recess, he was 
in high spirits. He had played Prisoners’ Base (which 
was the same as Prisoners’ Gool) with the boys both 
morning and afternoon. When he went out in the morn- 
ing, as he had paused on the step, Joe Langley had walked 
very slowly as he passed him and Tommy had greeted 
him pleasantly. 

‘‘Hullo, Joe ! I go to your father’s church every Sun- 
day and I always put ten cents into his basket of money 
besides a whole lot that my father and mother give,” he 
said. 

“I’ve seen you there,” returned Joe. “It’s nice your 
father can sit with you. Mine can’t because he has to 
preach.” 

“Well, you’ve got a nice mother, she’s so big and must 
have a pile of muscle. It would be good for robbers but 
no wonder you’re such a good boy,” remarked Tommy. 

“I think you must mean Bell. She is wonderful,” said 
Joe simply. “My mother is ever so much smaller and her 
cheeks aren’t red at all. But she’s almost as nice as 
Bell.” 

The other boys were calling to Joe to come and choose 
his side. “I choose you first. Tommy,” he said, and 
Tommy went along happily and played with great enjoy- 
ment. And this afternoon he had been a leader and had 
chosen Joe, and their side had won. Just as the bell rang 
he had agreed to play Three Old Cat after school with 


107 


108 


THE NEWCOMER 


some boys who would come with him to the big back yard 
at the Lees. As Tommy passed Essie^s seat, he shrugged 
his shoulders contemptuously. 

Tommy looked a different boy, too, to-day. The new 
clothes Aunt Lena had selected were right in every par- 
ticular. She had forgotten nothing, and Miss Hatch had 
been surprised indeed when Tommy entered the room that 
morning. Mrs. Lee had washed his hair the night before 
and Charley had brushed it neatly for him this morning 
and he was as clean and shining as he had been when his 
mother was able to look after him. He had bright, dark 
eyes, rosy cheeks and dimples, and his brown hair looked 
soft and smooth to-day. He was really a fine looking 
little fellow ; but he never gave a thought to his personal 
appearance except for his plaid Windsor tie. He thought 
that very handsome and believed it must be that which 
had changed Essie^s demeanour towards him. 

Dinner had been a very different occasion to-day. 
There had been a great deal of talking and laughing — 
much more than they had at home — and some noise ; but 
everything had been orderly and everyone had been polite. 
Little Walter had taken up his plate to make his brothers 
laugh by lapping his food, but he had been promptly ban- 
ished to the nursery. Tommy must have looked queer, 
for afterwards Aunt Lena had told him that she knew it 
was not altogether Walter’s fault. For all that, he knew 
better. Even the baby knew better than that. And if 
George or Charley were more to blame, they were pun- 
ished through Walter. For they were very fond of the 
little boys. 

Tommy thought it very nice of Aunt Lena to explain 
to him as if he were a grown person. She was so differ- 


IN PENNY LANE 


109 


ent from that old Aunt Hannah who bossed him around 
as if he had been a toad or snake. It wouldn’t be hard 
to be good to Aunt Lena, he loved her so much. He said 
to himself that he would do exactly as Clay had said and 
be so good that Aunt Lena would feel just terrible when 
he had to go home. 

But school was another thing. At school, Tommy was 
determined to have a jolly time. The boys all took to 
him. Most of them had felt his muscle already, some of 
them giving it grudging praise, and they seemed to think 
there was nothing he was afraid of. He felt they would 
expect him to amuse them by cutting up in school. 

Until now, he hadn’t had any time. He had lost two 
days and had been obliged to study hard all day to catch 
up with the others so that Essie couldn’t make any spite- 
ful remarks. But he had only one lesson after recess. 
This was spelling, which came easy to him, and he said to 
himself he must make a beginning. He must not delay 
longer to let the boys know what a jolly chap he was. 

As he passed her, Essie seemed already so absorbed in 
her spelling lesson that Tommy wasn’t sure that she saw 
his gesture of scorn. He would get his right away and 
wouldn’t miss a word; but he could do it easily and still 
cut up shines before they had to write the lesson. 

He was deep in the task when he was startled by a loud 
thump on the door. It came to him that it was the school 
committee. He had always stood greatly in awe of the 
school committee, of whom he thought vaguely as giant 
policemen ready to pounce upon bad little boys, and he 
trembled as it came to him that if they had been a little 
later they might have caught him in mischief. 

Even Miss Hatch looked a bit startled. She walked to 


110 


THE NEWCOMER 


the door and opened it, and who should walk in but 
Pedro! The dog wagged his tail and was very humble, 
but he tried to keep out of Miss Hatch’s way as if fearful 
of being dragged out by the collar as he made for Tom- 
my’s side. But Miss Hatch was too surprised to do any- 
thing, and the dog made a final dash, leaped upon Tommy, 
and began to lick his face and ear wildly. 

The other children laughed, but Tommy looked appre- 
hensively and imploringly at Miss Hatch. She was smil- 
ing, but she was coming towards him. And it didn’t seem 
as if Tommy could possibly take Pedro out and shut the 
door on him, — dear, faithful Pedro, who didn’t know 
he was doing any harm. 

But the teacher loved dogs too. And perhaps she saw 
the tears that came to Tommy’s eyes. Besides, it wasn’t 
the same as if the dog had come from the village or the 
Hollow. 

*Tf we let him stay until school is out, can you make 
him lie down and be quiet. Tommy?” she asked. 

‘*Oh, yes’m; yes, indeed,” cried Tommy gratefully, and 
quickly persuaded Pedro to lie on the floor at his side. 
He blocked up the aisle, however, and was much in the 
way. 

‘Tommy, I think I shall have to let you sit in that back 
seat that is empty for the rest of the afternoon, and then 
the dog won’t be in the way of anyone,” said Miss Hatch. 
‘T am saving that seat to give to someone who is so quiet 
and orderly that he doesn’t have to be watched at all, but 
it takes some time to earn such a reputation.” 

Tommy took his book and tiptoed to the seat, Pedro 
following and dropping quietly into the spot he pointed 
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IN PENNY LANE 


111 


from it for half an hour. Then, just before time for the 
spelling lesson, Pedro got up, put his paw on his arm and 
began to whine. Tommy’s heart sank. 

“What is it? Is he getting restless?” asked Miss Hatch. 

Tommy looked at her imploringly. “It isn’t that,” he 
said, “but it’s almost time to go for the cows and Pedro 
feels as if he ought to start. But he hates to go and I — ” 

In another instant Tommy’s voice would have broken. 
Miss Hatch came to his desk. She put her hand kindly 
upon Pedro’s shaggy head. 

“Good old Pedro !” she said. “I wish we were all as 
faithful to our every-day duties. I believe he came to 
school to-day to teach us a lesson that is more important 
than spelling.” 

She looked from the dog to Tommy. Then she spoke. 

“He’s so far from home, Tommy, that perhaps you 
had better go a piece with him,” she suggested. “You can 
go as far as the Hollow and then — haven’t you brothers 
in the academy?” 

“Yes’m, I can give him to Clay. He’s a great big fel- 
low, big as my father, and Pedro will be content to go 
with him,” said Tommy. He rose. But he was so grate- 
ful that he couldn’t go without some word. 

“I’ve studied my spelling a whole lot and I’m sorry to 
miss it,” he said earnestly. 

“You can recite it to me to-morrow at recess if you 
like. Tommy, it won’t take five minutes,” she said. 

“I’d do it if it took the whole recess and in the after- 
noon, too,” he returned so eagerly that she smiled. 

When he was telling Ruth about it that night, he said 
bis teacher at home would have fainted dead away to hear 


112 


THE NEWCOMER 


anything like that. “You know Fm what they call a 
reg’lar holy terror at that school, Ruthy,'' he added. 

“Nobody could be a holy terror with anyone so sweet 
as Miss Hatch and that loves dogs so much, could they. 
Tommy?” the little girl exclaimed. 

“I guess not,” Tommy returned reluctantly and drew a 
deep breath. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Tt^ONICA SMITH was very popular at school at 
first, but as the days went by she lost rather than 
gained. She took an active part in the games, striving 
always to be victor, and succeeding rather too often for 
her own good or the satisfaction of the other children. 
She could run faster than any girl in school and could 
outdistance all but two of the boys. Tommy Jennings be- 
ing one of the exceptions. At first she was content 
merely to boast of her speed and skill, but after a little, 
she began to taunt those she had beaten. 

The boys did not mind greatly. They said little, but 
practised running out of school hours and felt that it 
wouldn^t be long that Monica could crow over them. But 
some of the girls took it amiss that a stranger should 
come into their midst, seize first place in the games, and 
boast of her skill and look down upon them. 

“How does she know that we don^t just let her beat?^* 
grumbled Meta Phillips at recess one afternoon. “My 
father and mother told me to be particularly polite to her 
because she's a stranger. And even if I could beat her, 
it wouldn’t be polite at first.” 

“She doesn’t know how to behave any way. She came 
out of an orphan ’sylum. She’s only adopted and her 
name isn’t really Smith at all,” declared Essie Lee, who 
was Meta’s closest friend. 

At that moment, Monica herself appeared before the 
two girls with flaming cheeks and blazing eyes. 

“.Who’s only adopted, Essie Lee ?” she demanded hotly. 


114 


THE NEWCOMER 


‘‘Professor Cartwright didn’t have any mother and was 
brought up by an old lady that’s dead named Miss Penny,” 
returned Essie meekly. Her mother, too, had bidden her 
to be kind to Monica. 

“Was that who you were talking about?” Monica asked. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, Monica Smith?” retorted 
Essie. 

“No, because you wouldn’t dare say it to my face. But 
you were talking about me,” cried Monica. 

Essie was silent. Monica looked so angry and her 
eyes so black that she was almost afraid of her. Then, 
too, she remembered that her mother had cautioned her 
and the other children to say nothing to Monica about her 
being an adopted child. 

“No matter if she does know it,” Mrs. Lee had said 
when Essie had objected. “You needn’t mention it. Mr. 
and Mrs. Smith look upon Monica as their own daugh- 
ter and they are our neighbours and the best neighbours 
that could be had.” 

Monica waited a little, then put out her tongue, made a 
face at Essie and turned to Meta. 

“And so you just let me beat, did you?” she demanded. 
“Come and race now and do your very best and see who 
wins !” 

“O, you were listening, were you?” asked Meta. “My 
father thinks listening is awful and he’s master of the 
academy. I’m afraid he wouldn’t want me to ’sociate 
with you if you’re that sort of a girl.” 

For a second, Monica was too angry to speak. It is 
hard to say what might have happened had not Mr. Lang- 
ley come up at that moment. He was chairman of the 
school committee and had just come over to arrange for 


IN PENNY LANE 


115 


a teachers* meeting. As he was leaving the building, he 
glanced towards the three girls and then went hastily over 
to them. He greeted them pleasantly. 

*'1 wonder if you girls would be willing to spend the 
rest of the time until the bell rings doing a favour for 
me,** he proposed. “I lost a little charm from my watch- 
guard yesterday — a little gold key that I have worn there 
for more than thirty years. I came over here just before 
tea and crossed the grass plot yonder in about a straight 
line from that ash tree. I shall be greatly obliged if you 
will search the grass thoroughly along that line. Then 
if it*s there you will find it, and if you do not find it, the 
ground to be searched will be so much reduced.** 

The faces of the girls, which had all looked confused 
and ashamed, changed as if by magic, and they set out 
eagerly all together. 

“Wouldn’t it be splendid if we should find it?** cried 
Monica. 

Meta Phillips drew a long breath. “I shouldn’t wonder 
if any of us found it if it was you, Monica, you have such 
bright eyes and are so quick,** she said generously. 

Tears came to the bright eyes. “O Meta, how can you 
speak so after— everything?** she cried. “I hope we 
will find it, but I hope it will be you. And anyway, it 
would be only fair because you have known Mr. Langley 
all your life and I never saw him until this summer. And 
— ^and I do know better than to listen.** 

Meta kissed her. “And my father would love to have 
me friends with you, Monica,” she declared. 

They divided the space and searched thoroughly, now 
and again after school, but they were unable to find the 
little gold trinket. 


CHAPTER XXII 


O AK HILL FARM, which was about four miles 
north of the South Hollow, and which was one of 
the finest farms in the county, had been sold in the late 
summer. The new owner, a Mr. Russell, who was Tom- 
my Jennings’ uncle, was to move in with his family be- 
fore Thanksgiving. He had a little girl named Fanny, 
but the children would only see her at church, for she 
wouldn’t go to school in the village. She would attend 
school in a little red brick schoolhouse near the road 
which led to Oxbridge. But before her arrival, some- 
thing very interesting would take place at the farm. An 
auction was to be held at which all the household goods 
of the former owner were to be sold. Mr. Smith always 
attended all the auctions in the countryside, and as this 
was to take place on a Saturday, he promised to let Mon- 
ica go with him. And he told her she might ask Joe, 
who had been to auctions before with his neighbour. 

That only made Joe the more eager. He talked the 
matter all over the night before with Bell and made his 
plans carefully. Bell had never been to an auction, but 
she could have described one to you almost as well as if 
she had been an auctioneer, for Joe had always told her 
about those he attended in careful detail. 

“Dear me, I suppose poor Mrs. Smith is worrying al- 
ready about the clocks Mr. Smith’ll be a-bringing home,” 
Bell remarked. “I don’t believe the Rogerses would have 
a great many of ’em, being so far out, but I’ll warrant 
he’ll buy every one that’s put up.” 

ii6 


IN PENNY LANE 


117 


“But Bell, he^s got twelve now — no, thirteen, I forgot 
the little pretty one he got specially for Mrs. Smith. What 
ever could he do with any more?’^ asked Joe anxiously. 
“It^s a little bit rackety now in their sitting-room with the 
big clock ticking slow and loud and the banjo clock tick- 
ing quicker and sharp and Mrs. Smith’s little new clock 
making a soft buzz all at once.” 

“I know, Joey, but Mr. Smith will never think of that. 
He’s as good a man as ever lived, Mr. Smith is, and a 
good neighbour and a good husband in other ways. But 
he doesn’t seem to have any sense of what’s proper when 
it’s clocks he sees,” declared Bell. 

“If the Rogerses liked their clocks as well, why, they’ll 
take them all with them, same’s they’re going to their 
horses and dogs,” remarked Joe hopefully. And Bell 
seemed to take comfort from the thought. 

Joe sought out his father. 

“Father, when I went to that last auction I was only 
eight,” he remarked. “Now that I’m nine, do you think 
that I might bid, too?” 

“Why, certainly, Joey. I never thought of that. Of 
course you can,” said Mr. Langley warmly. “Hop up 
here on my knee and let’s reckon up the approximate 
amount of money you will need. We have half an hour 
before bedtime.” 

“Does ’proximate mean bring back what I don’t 
spend?” Joe enquired. 

“No, son, it means a sum of money that will probably 
cover all you will want to use. We can’t tell beforehand 
what things will go for nor how much we will spend, so 
we make a guess and decide upon an approximate amount. 


118 


THE NEWCOMER 


I will give it to you and you can spend it all or bring back 
part of it for your bank/' 

“I’ll spend it all,” said Joe promptly. 

Mr. Langley smiled. “Very well. Now, do you think 
of anything you may wish to buy?” 

“Something for Bell and for Monica and for mother,” 
said Joe. 

“And how much do you want for a maximum for 
each?” asked his father. “You have had enough expe- 
rience to be able to guess about how things sell at an 
auction, — small articles, of course. For you couldn’t 
bring home anything large, you know. Mr. Smith will 
need all the extra room in the buggy for his clocks.” 

Joe was so occupied in thinking of maximum and how 
he should make it clear to Bell that he wasn’t so troubled 
as he would have been otherwise by his father’s taking it 
for granted that Mr. Smith would come home laden with 
clocks. 

“Well, father, I have seen perfectly wonderful things 
struck off for twenty-five cents,” he said presently. “I 
can get mother something nice for that. She has so 
many things that she’d rather have something very small 
and plain. But Bell hasn’t so much and she just loves 
bright things, and it can’t be too teeny, because she’s so 
large. I think I’d like fifty cents for her and fifty for 
Monica.” 

“That’s first-rate planning,” said his father. “But 
there’s the chance of things going high, and I want you 
to get what you think suitable even if it costs more. And 
I want you to spend at least fifty cents for yourself, 
Here’s three dollars. See what you can do with that.” 

When they set forth next morning, Joe had three dol 


IN PENNY LANE 


119 


lars and a half in the pocketbook he had received on the 
Christmas tree at the church last year. He had taken 
fifty cents from his bank to buy something for his father. 
He was saving his money to get him a watch charm for 
Christmas to take the place of the one he had lost, which 
had not been found, but he felt that he would have enough 
by that time. 

The drive was very pleasant through the South Hol- 
low, past the academy, and along a straight, beautiful 
country road bordered by trees with foliage of all colours 
from dark green to pale yellow and scarlet. As they went 
through the Hollow, the Cartwright twins, who were 
leaving today for their home in the city and were dressed 
in their sailor suits and tarns already, stood by their gate. 
Joe waved his hand gayly to them. Buddy waved his 
gayly in response and Ruddy actually blew him a kiss. 
And Monica, who didn’t like to think that Ruddy was 
at her best with Joey and that he liked her, felt suddenly 
indignant and thrust out her tongue at her. Ruddy made 
a terrible grimace, and though Monica pretended that she 
didn’t see it, she knew that Ruddy saw that she did. 

‘Ts that the way little girls part who aren’t to meet 
again until another summer?” asked Mr. Smith quizzi- 
cally. 

‘‘Oh, father, are you ashamed of me?” cried Monica, 
penitently and anxiously. 

“No, dear, not at all,” he assured her. “I might have 
been a bit prouder of you if you had waved your hand 
like a lady ; but after all, you are only nine, and I know 
you wouldn’t have stuck out your tongue if you had had 
time to consider.” 

“I hope I wouldn’t,” said Monica earnestly. “But it 


120 


THE NEWCOMER 


puzzles me how Joe can possibly like a naughty girl that 
tried to kick her own father when he took her up to carry 
her oflF when she wouldn’t mind her mother, only she 
couldn’t do it because of the way he held her.” 

“If Joey liked only people that were always and alto- 
gether good, where would you and I be, Monica ?” asked 
her father. “I doubt if he would be riding out with us 
now.” 

Monica flushed. 

“It’s very polite of you to put yourself with me that 
way, father, but I know what you mean,” she said. 
“You’re not at all, you know — I mean you are, but — well, 
everybody’s proud to have Joey riding with ’em, aren’t 
they?” 

“Sure thing. And Joe and I, who have been to auc- 
tions together before, are very glad to have you along to- 
day. But here we are. See, there’s the house up yonder. 
See how many horses and buggies you can count as we 
go up the hill.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


^1-1 HE sheds and barns were full, and horses were 
hitched all about the space surrounding the big farm 
buildings. There were all sorts of horses, from the 
heavy-footed work horses to the high-stepping, blooded 
creatures that competed for prizes at the annual cattle 
show, and besides these there were half a dozen yokes of 
oxen and a pair of mules. The vehicles were as numer- 
ous. There were buggies, phaetons, carriages, surreys, 
buckboards, sulkies, and all manner of farm wagons. 
But the door-3rard was clear. The auctioneer's table stood 
on a large covered porch opening into the kitchen, with 
articles to be sold piled up on both sides. As these were 
sold, others were handed out the windows or carried 
through the door. 

At first the people stood around, but before long all 
the women were seated and presently the greater number 
of the men. For the orderly procedure of the auctioneer 
was interrupted again and again, as one and another went 
into the house and brought out chairs, stools, sofas and 
benches and asked him to put them up for sale. The 
buyer thereupon sat down upon his own property and if 
there was room asked others to sit with him. And soon 
there was a double row of seats curving in a half circle 
about the porch. It was an odd sight, for a red plush 
sofa stood next a kitchen chair and a milking stool next 
to a willow settee. A very stout lady in a purple gown 
sat in a cushioned rocker and rocked continually, to the 


122 


THE NEWCOMER 


great annoyance of a thin old man whose long legs were 
cramped from sitting on a cricket he had purchased for 
his grandchild. Mr. Smith, Monica and Joe shared a 
bench with an old man who was deaf, and were rather 
conspicuous, as Mr. Smith had to tell him the price at 
which every article was sold and a good many of the bids. 
And he didn’t always catch the words the first time. 

But they didn’t mind, for it was all very jolly. Every- 
one was in high good humour except the old man next 
to the lady who rocked away so happily, and presently 
he regained his serenity. For Joe whispered to Mr. 
Smith that he could sit on the arm of the settee and see 
all the better, and Mr. Smith asked the old man — whose 
name happened also to be Smith — to take his place. And 
thereafter he was as jolly as anyone. And the stout lady 
took his cricket to put her feet on when she got tired of 
rocking. 

The auctioneer was the funniest man that Joe and 
Monica had ever seen. No clown in a circus was ever 
half so funny. He had a droll remark for everything he 
put up for sale and Joe and Monica were not the only 
ones who laughed almost continually. He knew almost 
everyone in the company by name and called out to one 
and another that this article he was selling was exactly 
what they wished for or needed or had waited a lifetime 
to find. The children thought at first that people would 
be embarrassed to be thus singled out, but on the contrary 
they seemed to enjoy it. The only one who minded was 
a tall young man who, the other Mr. Smith said, was 
engaged to be married. When the auctioneer called his 
special attention to a set of parlour furniture upholstered 
in scarlet plush, he blushed all over, wiped his brow with 


IN PENNY LANE 123 

a red bandana and giggled nervously. But he purchased 
the set. 

Joe and Monica waited eagerly for their Mr. Smith to 
bid on something. Finally a small chest of drawers was 
placed beside the table. 

*‘Now here’s a handsome article of furniture, plain but 
solid, and all complete even to the handles, which always 
seem to come off in our house. How much am I offered 
for this?” asked the auctioneer. ‘‘Who is ready to start 
this at a nice little figure? Mrs. Carter, did I hear you 
Rtart it at three-fifty? Those lower drawers would hold 
your skirts without folding in the hems.” 

“No, sir, you didn’t hear me offer three-fifty nor one- 
fifty,” retorted a pretty little woman. “My house is full 
of ’em and, anyhow, I hang my skirts in a clothes-press.” 

“Five dollars !” called out our Mr. Smith. 

“Five dollars,” repeated the auctioneer approvingly. 
“Now that’s something like it. It takes Mr. Will Smith 
to know a good thing when he sees it And he isn’t bid- 
ding on it to put in his grain store, either.” 

“How much was bid on that?” shouted the deaf man 
next to Mr. Smith. 

“Five dollars,” said Mr. Smith and had to repeat it. 

“Ain’t that more’n it’s wuth?” asked the old man. Mr. 
Smith shook his head. 

“It’s considerable bunged up,” remarked the old man, 
as if they had been sitting in a parlour conversing. “And 
it’s nothing but pine, ain’t it?” 

Again Mr. Smith shook his head. 

“What! It ain’t pine? Then what is it, I should like 
to know?” 


124 


THE NEWCOMER 


'^Cherry!’’ shouted Mr. Smith reluctantly. And some- 
one called out “Six dollars!” 

“Six dollars I am offered for this beautiful cherry bu- 
reau?” cried the auctioneer reproachfully. “Only six 
dollars? Why, man, what do you mean? YouTe joking. 
But perhaps you meant ten? Ten, did you say, Mr. 
Smith?” 

“Six-fifty,” said Mr. Smith. 

“Seven,” said the other bidder. 

The stout woman in purple stopped rocking, rose and 
went to the porch to examine the chest. Returning to 
her chair, which seemed to have contracted during her 
absence, she squeezed herself in and bid seven dollars 
and a quarter. Mr. Smith raised it to eight. 

Monica and Joe looked into each other’s eyes across 
the other Mr. Smith in dismay. Mrs. Smith had warned 
them the last thing not to let him spend too much money. 
Both of them thought the chest of drawers beautiful, but 
eight dollars seemed a very large amount of money. 

The bidding went on. The stout woman stopped rock- 
ing twice to raise the offer by a quarter of a dollar, but 
after it reached ten dollars she dropped out. 

“Now suppose we stop joking and get down to busi- 
ness,” said the auctioneer briskly. “Ten dollars! Ladies 
and gentlemen, am I offered only ten dollars for this 
beautiful piece of colonial furniture which very likely 
came over in the Mayflower along with What’s-his-name 
White’s cradle. Who was it said ten-fifty? Do I hear 
ten-fifty?” 

“Six seventy-five !” shouted the deaf man suddenly. It 
seemed very sad to Joe, but everyone else laughed. 

“Going at ten dollars — is it possible? Ten dollars once, 
ten ” 


IN PENNY LANE 


125 


“Ten-fifty/^ called a new voice. 

“Eleven/’ said Mr. Smith. 

“Eleven-fifty,” said the other. 

“Fifteen dollars!” sang out Mr. Smith. A silence fol- 
lowed as if every one was stunned. Certainly Monica and 
Joe felt weak and guilty. 

“Fifteen dollars. Now that’s something like it. Now 
we’re beginning to get somewhere near a starting point 
with this old Elder Brewster cherry highboy. Who’s 
raising it to twenty to save time ?” 

No one was. 

“Nineteen?” 

Silence. 

“Fifteen-fifty, then? Who bids fifteen-fifty?” 

“Fifteen-fifty!” cried Mr. Smith and only knew by the 
general laugh that he had raised his own bid. 

“Fifteen-fifty. Fifteen dollars and a half for the bar- 
gain of a lifetime! Fifteen-fifty, once. Fifteen-fifty, 
twice. Fifteen-fifty, three times and sold to William 
Smith.” 

Mr. Smith dropped back in his place. The deaf man 
began to question him and something else was put up for 
sale, but neither of the children heard what went on for 
some time. They exchanged startled glances with each 
other and looked anxiously at Mr. Smith, whose face 
was flushed. Both dreaded the minute when he should 
have to pay for his purchase. Even if he had so much 
money at his shop, he had to pay his clerk. And he 
wouldn’t be likely to go about with fifteen dollars in his 
pocket. Why, that meant really fifteen hundred cents! — 
fifteen hundred and fifty! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


J OE heard the word map and forgot his concern for 
Mr. Smith. He looked up quickly to see a large map 
of the United States hanging over the auctioneer’s table. 
His heart beat eagerly. It seemed exactly the thing for 
Bell. 

But looking at it more closely, he was somewhat dis- 
appointed. For there were no bright colours on it as 
there generally were on maps. The lower half of the 
country was mostly black and the upper dingy grey. Even 
Vermont, which Bell would expect to be green, was 
indistinguishable. 

‘‘Ladies and gentlemen, this map of the United States 
will be valuable some day,” the auctioneer declared. “It 
shows the slave and free states as they were in ’60. It 
hangs on your wall, so, and rolls up neatly, so. Who will 
start it at ten cents?” 

Not Joe Langley, certainly. He wouldn’t give Bell 
anything which would make her feel sad every time she 
looked at it and thought of the poor slaves. And besides, 
later, he was glad that he hadn’t spent his money. For 
when a large dictionary was put up, the little boy knew 
that that was what would please Bell, with her thirst for 
knowledge, most of anything. Furthermore, apart from 
all the wisdom it contained, the volume had red edges. 

Joe and the thin Mr. Smith had become friendly by this 
time. 

“I think I would like to bid on that,” he whispered. “I 
126 


IN PENNY LANE 127 

can spend fifty or seventy-five cents. What shall I say to 
start?” 

“Twenty-five at the most,” said Mr. Smith. 

“Webster’s unabridged dictionary, ladies and gentle- 
men,” announced the auctioneer. “How much am I 
offered for this standard work which every home should 
contain? Do I hear a bid? How about you, Charley? 
Why, isn’t this the very thing you want for your marble- 
topped stand, there?” 

Charley shrugged his shoulders, to Joe’s relief. He 
waited a moment then cried shrilly : “Twenty-five cents,” 
hoping with all his heart the auctioneer wouldn’t ask him 
if he was joking to offer so little for so much. 

“Twenty-five cents once, twenty-five cents twice, 
twenty-five cents three times and sold to Joseph Langley,” 
said the auctioneer promptly. And Joe drew a deep sigh 
of satisfaction. Monica smiled at him across the other 
Mr. Smith, and the man called Charley placed the dic- 
tionary on the ground next the settee where he could gaze 
upon it. 

But presently he bethought himself of other presents 
to be bought. A glass vase, bright blue with a moss rose 
painted on it, he thought might please his mother, and 
asked the other Mr. Smith if he thought it suitable for a 
minister’s wife. Mr. Smith believed a candlestick which 
stood on the window sill would be rather better, so Joe 
waited for that. He offered fifteen cents merely to start 
it, but again it was his without opposition. 

It was the same with an apple picker which he bought 
for his father. It was a wonderful article and yet no one 
else seemed to want it. Joe felt very happy as he thought 
of his father standing beneath the only apple tree they 


128 


THE NEWCOMER 


had and calmly picking an apple from the topmost bough. 
And now he had only Monica and himself to provide for, 
which was much simpler than selecting things for older 
people. His eyes shone as a lantern with a reflector was 
held out. He would have liked it greatly, but he didn’t 
dare risk buying anything else until he had Monica’s gift 
safe. 

One article after another was put up and sold, and it 
was almost noon and still he had seen nothing for a little 
girl. Mr. Smith left his place on the bench for a little 
to go see if his horse was all right, so Joe moved into 
it in case the deaf man might want something in his 
absence. He had hardly seated himself before he heard 
Monica gasp. He looked anxiously into her face. But 
her eyes were fixed upon something in the auctioneer’s 
hand. 

Following her gaze, Joe almost gasped himself. The 
auctioneer was holding up the most beautiful doll he had 
ever seen. She was a lady doll, perhaps sixteen or seven- 
teen inches tall, with smooth black hair, blue eyes, and a 
sweet face with rosy cheeks. She was wonderfully 
dressed in fine checked silk. Her skirt was very full and 
stood out all round like a balloon over which she wore 
a tight bodice which buttoned down the front. After- 
wards, Joe learned that the bodice was called a basque, 
that there were real buttonholes which would undo, and 
little whalebones for all the seams. There was a frill of 
lace at the throat with a pretty button for a brooch, and 
she wore red kid shoes and black lace mitts. 

At first Joe wished Mr. Smith were at hand. Then he 
remembered the fifteen dollars and fifty cents for the 
bureau and realised he wouldn’t have any money left. 


IN PENNY LANE 


129 


Then he wished with all his heart he had emptied both 
banks. For of course the wonderful doll would go very 
high. 

There was nothing to do but to bid as long as he could. 
He had two dollars and seventy-five cents left, and when 
the auctioneer asked for a bid, he felt as if it would be 
useless to start it for anything less. But before he could 
decide, someone in the rear oifered fifty cents. 

“Fifty cents ! Why, the lady’s gown is worth a dollar. 
You couldn’t find her like today anywhere. If you don’t 
want her for your children or grandchildren, some one 
might buy her to stand on the melodeon in the best room 
as a curiosity. Come, bid high, ladies and gentlemen,” 
cried the auctioneer. 

Joe was very glad to hear him say that. It would have 
been harder to bid against anyone who wanted it for a 
little girl. But when someone said seventy-five cents and 
he turned around and saw it was the lady whom the 
auctioneer had called Mrs. Carter, he didn’t mind. She 
didn’t look as if she was buying it for a child. 

“Seventy-five! Only seventy-five cents for this old- 
fashioned lady in silk and lace and French kid shoes. 
Who will add a dollar ? Who bids one seventy-five ?” 

“I do!” cried Joe. And while he waited anxiously for 
some one to say two seventy-five, he heard with amaze- 
ment: “One seventy-five, once, twice, three times, and 
sold to Joseph Langley for one dollar and seventy-five 
cents.” 

He couldn’t believe it. But as he looked up in- 
credulously, the auctioneer was holding it out to him in 
the friendliest way. Joe slipped from the bench and 
ran eagerly forward to receive the doll. She was so won- 


130 


THE NEWCOMER 


der fully beautiful that though he hadn’t had a doll for 
years he felt like hugging her. But he only bore her 
carefully to Monica and put her in her arms. And the 
look on Monica’s face was most wonderful of all. After- 
wards she told Joey that she had never had a real doll 
in her life but that she had always longed for one. 

Mr. Smith returned just as the first clock was offered. 
The auctioneer tried to make him start the bidding, 
making jokes as to his being a connection of old Father 
Time’s. But Mr. Smith shook his head smilingly. It 
was an ugly clock, however, even in his eyes, and not old, 
and he didn’t seem to mind when someone else got that 
and another which followed. But Joe saw him start and 
look concerned when a small clock with a mirror below 
and a ship painted on the glass door was brought out. 
And he saw that he believed what the auctioneer said 
about it’s being a hundred years old and a beauty. 

“Now, Mr. Smith, here’s your chance,” the latter cried. 
“I’ll warrant you will start the bidding on this and very 
likely finish it later. Perhaps you knew about this clock 
and came to the auction just to buy it.” 

Joe thought he might have known better than that 
unless he had forgotten in the excitement the huge sum 
Mr. Smith had spent already. And he wasn’t surprised 
when Mr. Smith refused to start it. But the little boy’s 
heart sank. He saw that Mr. Smith wanted the clock as 
much as he himself had wanted the doll for Monica and 
much more than he had wanted the lantern. And per- 
haps he had really come on purpose to get it and then had 
bought the bureau, which was probably for Monica, 
instead. 

The auctioneer was waiting. 


IN PENNY LANE 


131 


*‘Come, start it, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Smith 
needs cheering up. He thinks this clock is going high, 
but he won^t want to lose the chance after all. Start it. 
Carter, and give him courage.^* 

But Carter didn’t dare risk it. And no one seemed 
disposed to risk anything. The fact was that those who 
would have offered from one dollar to five on a new 
clock, wouldn’t venture half a dollar on an old-fashioned 
one that Will Smith wouldn’t bid for. And poor Will 
Smith, who had (very foolishly as he now believed) 
promised his wife not to bid on any timepiece, set his 
teeth and tried not to look at the clock. 

“What’s the matter? Do you think there’s anything 
wrong with this clock? Listen, then,” cried the auc- 
tioneer. And putting a finger upon the mechanism, he 
made it strike. The tone was good. It chanced to strike 
twelve and the sun was directly overhead. Everyone 
laughed but the deaf man, Mr. Smith and Joe Langley. 
The deaf man did not understand what it was all about, 
and Mr. Smith and Joe were too delighted with the sound. 
Then suddenly it came to the little boy that he had not 
spent all his money. 

“One dollar!” he cried so joyfully that nearly everyone 
smiled. No one bid against him, and his heart seemed 
nearly bursting when he heard it announced as sold to 
himself. 

Mr. Smith gazed at the boy wonderingly. Then he 
remembered that Joe’s father had told him to buy some- 
thing for himself. He thought it was like the wise, sen- 
sible little boy he was to want a valuable clock such as 
that, and he was glad he had the taste early. 

He was surprised and touched on the way home to learn 


1 132 -^ 


THE NEWCOMER 


that it was a present for himself. And Joey was so happy 
in making the gift, that Mr. Smith couldn’t do anything 
but accept it. Mrs. Smith was touched, too. She allowed 
her husband to put it in the dining-room on the mantel. 
And though at first she only tolerated it, later she liked it 
and after a little wouldn’t have parted with it. For not 
only was it greatly admired by people who understood the 
value of old things, but it proved to be the best time- 
keeper in the house, not even excepting Mr. Smith’s watch. 


CHAPTER XXV 


O NE afternoon of the week before the auction, when 
Mrs. Langley was calling at the Cartwright’s, she 
spoke of Mr. Langley’s having lost a watch charm he 
valued highly. 

‘Tt was his Phi Beta Kappa badge which he received 
when he graduated from college thirty years or more ago, 
and I know he feels very badly over it. But though he 
has looked everywhere and we have all looked, we haven’t 
been able to find it,” she said. And Ruddy, who was on 
the floor playing with the baby, stopped to listen. 

“Oh, has he lost that? I am so sorry,” murmured 
Ruddy’s mother. “I remember seeing it as a little girl 
and wondering why it should be called a key. I thought 
all keys were like door keys. Reuben wears one, you 
know, now.” 

“I think Russell gave up too easily,” Mrs. Langley went 
on. “I begged him to advertise it in the Wenham 
Gazette and offer a reward. If I knew just how to go 
about it, I would offer one myself.” 

“What’s that. Aunt Ella?” asked Buddy looking up 
from his Robinson Crusoe. 

“Why, Buddy, it’s like a prize,” she said. “I would 
give a sum of money to any one who found the charm,” 
she answered. 

“How much?” he demanded. His mother looked sur- 
prised but Mrs. Langley said she would be very glad to 
give five dollars. 


133 


134 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Gee!’* cried Buddy, who wanted a bicycle, “wisht I 
could get it.” 

“Why Buddy, do you mean that you would take money 
for finding something Uncle Russell had lost— dear Uncle 
Russell whom you love and whom you were named for !” 
cried his mother reproachfully. 

“Oh, no, mother, I didn’t think,” he said quickly. 

Ruddy looked at him anxiously. She tyrannised over 
her twin brother but she was devoted to him and wanted 
him to have his every wish fulfilled. She wanted him to 
have a bicycle quite as much as he wished it himself, and 
she was still angry with her father when she thought of 
it, because he had refused to buy him one when they had 
asked him at the beginning of the summer. Now, as it 
came to her that he had bought a carriage for the baby, 
she suddenly gave up playing with her little sister and 
rushed out of doors. If her mother hadn’t been so near, 
she would have screamed in the baby’s ear and frightened 
her. But she didn’t care. The baby had cheated Buddy 
out of his bicycle, but her mother was wild about her 
simply because she didn’t have red hair like the rest of 
the family and made a great fuss whenever she cried. 

Outside, she said to herself indignantly that Buddy 
should have the five dollars if he found the charm. Five 
dollars would go a long way towards the purchase of a 
bicycle. And Aunt Ella had said she would be glad to 
give it. And perhaps, if she went with Buddy when he 
took it to her. Aunt Ella would give her five dollars, too. 
People often did that. If they gave one of the twins 
something, they gave the same to the other. And ten 
dollars — why, ten dollars would very likely buy the 
bicycle. 


IN PENNY LANE 


135 


Then Ruddy’s face sobered. Alas ! they hadn’t found 
the charm yet. And if it were left to Buddy, it would 
never be found. He would rather look for Friday’s foot- 
prints in the sand the masons had left at Grandpa 
Miller’s. 

As she was returning to the parlour to ask Aunt Ella 
where Uncle Russell had been when he had last had the 
charm, suddenly Ruddy recollected that her mother had 
said her father wore one. Oh, and she remembered it 
well — that little shiny gold thing he wore on his watch 
chain. Again her face lighted up. And now it seemed as 
if she could never wait until Buddy came out. 

He came very soon. Buddy never remained long, even 
if he had a book, where his sister was not. But before 
he came. Ruddy had changed her mind. It wouldn’t be 
safe to tell him her wonderful secret. He wouldn’t under- 
stand. He loved his father so much that he wouldn’t 
like to think of his being disappointed even when father 
deserved it as he did now. Ruddy loved him too, of 
course, but when he was really bad, she didn’t care if 
something happened to him that he would be sorry for. 
And he was certainly horrid about the bicycle, and it 
would serve him right if he lost something that wasn’t 
after all worth so very much. 

But even now, she would give him another chance. 
The day before the auction and the day before they were 
leaving the Hollow, Ruddy went to her father who sat on 
the porch doing nothing but looking up at the sky which 
was only plain blue. 

“Father,” she said as politely as she knew how, “will 
you please get Buddy a bicycle ?” 

He stared at her a moment as if she had been talking 


136 


THE NEWCOMER 


in big words that he didn’t know the meaning of. Then 
he frowned. 

“Ruddy, why do you bring up that question again?” 
he asked crossly. “It was settled once for all in the 
spring.” 

“I thought perhaps you mighi not be so cross after 
resting all summer,” she said. 

He sighed but said nothing. 

“Buddy’s a good boy and you haven’t any excuse,” she 
declared. “He hardly ever gets into mischief unless I 
lead him into it. You say so yourself.” 

“Certainly I do. And as I said before, I should get 
him a bicycle if I could afford to do so,” he said. “But 
even good children don’t have everything they want.” 

“You got that old baby a carriage and you haven’t 
known her half so long as you have Buddy !” cried Ruddy 
hotly. “I just wish Uncle Russell was my father. He’d 
give Buddy a bicycle quick. Joey doesn’t even have to 
ask for things.” 

“How do you think Uncle Russell would like you for 
his little girl ? Do you think he would be willing to swap 
Joey for you?” asked her father. 

“That doesn’t make any difference now. We are 
talking about something else,” she said rudely. “What 
I want to know is are you going to get Buddy a bicycle, 
Father Cartwright, or are you not going to?” 

“Rowena Cartwright!” cried her father. “If it wasn’t 
for the fact that we are leaving Farleigh to-morrow for 
nearly a year, I should pick you up and carry you right 
off to your bed this instant. As it is, I will give you one 
more chance. If you say nothing more, but go away 
quietly without one word, I will let it pass for this time.” 


IN PENNY LANE 


137 


Ruddy turned and ran. But she said to herself that he 
didn’t know that he had lost his one chance. She didn’t 
care in the least now if he did lose his old charm. Indeed, 
she would be perfectly delighted to have dear Uncle Rus- 
sell get it. He was so very much nicer than Father. 

When she had first looked at him, Ruddy had noticed 
that her father wasn’t wearing his gold chain with the 
charms. She ran up to his room and opened the drawer 
of the dresser. Ah! there was the chain and there was 
the charm — just exactly like the one Uncle Russell had 
lost. It didn’t come off the chain readily but after 
Ruddy had fetched her mother’s strong, sharp embroidery 
scissors she opened the little ring which held it and secured 
it. She cut her finger, but it didn’t bleed long. 

Ruddy was very quiet the rest of the day. Her father 
thought she was ashamed or repentant, and her mother, 
who would have been suspicious, was so busy doing the 
last things before leaving the house that she didn’t notice 
anything. 

The next morning the twins were out directly after 
breakfast. Their sailor suits and tarns were of a red 
brown which was just the shade of their hair and they 
looked so picturesque that people who might have said 
yesterday that they would be thankful to have them gone, 
seeing them thus, felt sorry that they were leaving Far- 
leigh until another summer. 

‘^Buddy, let’s us hunt for Uncle Russell’s charm,” sug- 
gested Ruddy. “He comes here so much, he might easily 
have lost it here. It might have got caught in one of the 
gates. You look all around that one towards Penny Lane 
and I’ll take the other. Wouldn’t it be lovely to find it 
just as we are going 1” 


138 


THE NEWCOMER 


Buddy agreed, and very shortly shouted for joy. His 
sister ran over and he held up a shining trinket. 

‘‘Oh, Ruddy, come quick and show mother !” he cried 
eagerly. 

“No, Buddy,'' she said decidedly. “We won't tell one 
soul in the Hollow that you found it. Mother wouldn't 
let you take the reward and then everything would be 
spoiled." 

“I don’t care very much about it. Ruddy. I’d like to 
do it for Uncle Russell," he said pleadingly. 

“Don't you want a bicycle?" Ruddy asked sternly. 

“Yes, but ” 

Ruddy frowned darkly. Then her face lighted up. “I 
know!" she cried. “You watch here for grandpa and 
ride down with him and take it to Aunt Ella. You know 
Uncle Russell mustn’t be disturbed in the morning on any 
'count. You give it to her and say you found it in the 
yard. Tell her you're glad to do it for Uncle Russell 
and she needn’t pay you anything. But if she says she 
just will, you’ll have to let her, or it won’t be polite. And 
don't hurry right off. Give her time, you know.” 

“Why don't you come, too. Ruddy?” he asked wist- 
fully. 

“Oh, I’d better not. Aunt Ella likes you better. If 
she saw me it might spoil everything," said Ruddy. 

At that moment Mr. Smith's horse came in sight. It 
seemed as if everything was in favour of the bicycle, for 
there was Joey on the seat with Mr. Smith and Monica. 
It would be a lot better to have Joey out of the way. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


M onica kept thinking of what Mrs. Cartwright had 
said about the child who was adopted and didn't 
know it. She wished she had herself been adopted when 
she had been too young to realise it. Well, there was no 
use in wishing that, but she did wish Mrs. Cartwright 
had told her whether it was a boy or a girl and where he 
or she lived. She might at least have told that much. 
She said it didn't make any difference if you were 
adopted, but if she hadn't really thought it was a dread- 
ful thing, why had she been unwilling to let her know 
who this other child was? Oh, dear, if only Monica 
could see it! It was so hard only to know children with 
parents they had always had! 

One day she went to Mrs. Smith and threw her arms 
about her neck. 

“Oh, mother, if only I had known you for nine years!" 
she cried. 

Mrs. Smith smiled as she kissed the little girl and took 
her into her lap. 

^^Well, we have made a good beginning now, and I 
hope we have a long time ahead of us, Monica, dear," 
she said. 

“I think I love you just as much as if I had always 
had you," Monica declared. 

“Yes, dear, I think you do. I think you show your 
love more, not only in words, but by trying to help and 
please me, than most little girls. But don't you think it 
139 


140 


THE NEWCOMER 


would be better not to think so much of adopted children 
and foster parents? You have a father and mother now 
that you seem satisfied with and we have a dear little 
daughter. Let’s all be happy to have it so and not think 
of anything else.” 

‘‘Mother, even if I tried, I couldn’t forget. The chil- 
dren at school always remember and if one of the girls 
gets mad at me, she always says something about that.” 

Mrs. Smith sighed. She remembered her own school 
days well enough to know that that would be true. And 
she was more than ever thankful that her neighbours’ 
secret had been kept. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad, only I’m the only one and so 
everybody picks on me,” declared Monica. “I guess there 
was never anyone adopted before in Farleigh, mother.” 

Mrs. Smith said nothing. 

“Was there ever, mother?” asked Monica. 

“There may have been,” replied her mother. 

“You mean you don’t know?” 

“There was a family here once that took a child — a 
baby,” said Mrs. Smith absently. 

'*Took it?” asked Monica, for it sounded as if they 
had stolen it. 

“Yes, dear.” 

“Goodness! Have they moved away?” 

“I would rather not talk about it, Monica. After a 
little people forgot all about it.” 

“Were they bad people, mother?” 

“No, indeed. They never told any untruths about it, 
if that is what you mean. But after they had almost 
forgotten it themselves and other people had quite for- 
gotten, there was no need of referring to it at all.” 


IN PENNY LANE 


141 


“But, mother, you thought I was bad because I wanted 
people to think I was your own little girl?’^ Monica per- 
sisted. 

Mrs. Smith sighed. “It is always wrong to deceive or 
to tell falsehoods,’’ she said. “But if after five or six 
years people here forget and we ourselves almost forget, 
it wouldn’t be wrong not to tell strangers that you are 
not our own daughter, though if anyone asked, we should 
probably explain. But Monica, why don’t you go out 
now and play? It’s so bright and sunny.” 

“Joey’s down to the Hollow with his father.” 

“Then why don’t you go over to see Essie? Take 
Melissa over and introduce her. If Mrs. Lee is there, 
let her see her. I fancy she will remember her mother’s 
wearing a basque just like Melissa’s.” 

Monica sighed. She did not get on well with Essie 
Lee. But she wrapped Melissa in the dolman Mrs. Smith 
had made for her and tied her little bonnet under her 
chin and set forth. 

Mrs. Lee exclaimed over the doll and said she remem- 
bered when ladies dressed just so. Monica unbuttoned 
Melissa’s basque, took it off and showed her the bones 
and the way the seams were turned back and worked, 
and the old-fashioned underclothing. Then she and Essie 
went up to the room which Essie shared with her sister 
Ruth. 

Essie got out her doll, which had long flaxen hair and 
was gayly dressed in modern fashion. But Bessy Ger- 
trude’s curls looked untidy beside Melissa’s neatly parted 
black locks, and her fine gown with one sleeve fastened 
in with a safety pin and the lace torn looked cheap and 


142 


THE NEWCOMER 


ugly beside Melissa’s beautifully finished checked silk. 
The contrast irritated Essie. 

“Melissa’s nice for a curiosity, but I’d drather have 
Bessy Gertrude to play with,” she declared. 

“Melissa’s better to play with. Her clothes go on and 
off a lot easier. How does Bessy Gertrude’s fasten, any- 
way?” asked Monica. 

Essie pressed her doll to herself to hide the pins that 
held her gown together. 

“She’s got on the very oldest things she’s got today,” 
she remarked. “How many different dresses has Melissa 
got?” 

“She’s going to have — oh, about twelve to start with, 
1 guess,” replied Monica. “Less see some of Bessy Ger- 
trude’s best ones.” 

“I don’t want to get ’em out of her little Saratoga 
trunk today, Monica,” said Essie. 

“Trunk!” echoed Monica eagerly. “Oh, Essie, have 
you got a doll’s trunk?” 

“Mother won’t let me play with it,” said Essie. 

“Less go ask her 1” cried Monica. 

“No, I don’t want to,” said Essie uneasily. 

“I’ll go ask her,” proposed Monica and sprang to her 
feet. But Essie stopped her. 

“You haven’t got a trunk at all, Essie Lee. Now, have 
you?” cried Monica. 

“Not a really truly one. I’m going to have though,” 
returned Essie. 

“You said you had.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“You almost said it. It was just like a lie!” Monica 
declared. 


IN PENNY LANE 


143 


‘It wasn’t/* Essie said. “But Monica, less play. Pre- 
tend I come to call. How do you do, Mrs. Smith? This 
is my youngest daughter, Bessy Gertrude. She has on 
her old dress because I thought your chairs might be 
dusty. And who is that young lady in the silk dress? 
Can that be the poor orphan you adopted?” 

Monica rose. “Pm going right home and I’ll never 
play with you again till my dying day, Essie Lee!” she 
cried wrathfully. 

“Oh, Monica, I was only in fun. Don’t go,” begged 
Essie. She really wished Monica to stay, and besides, 
she knew her mother would know something was wrong 
if she went home now. 

“If you’ll stay, we’ll begin all over, and I’ll let Melissa 
[wear Bessy Gertrude’s locket,” she begged. 

“Less see the locket,” said Monica, thinking of the 
Saratoga trunk. 

Essie looked about and finally found a ribbon on which 
hung a gold trinket, large for a doll. Monica looked at 
it admiringly. Then her eyes grew round with amaze- 
ment. 

“Why, Essie Lee!” she cried. “What are you doing 
with Mr. Langley’s watch charm? You stole it, you did. 
I’m going straight home. I may be adopted, but I 
wouldn’t be a thief !” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


M onica rushed in upon her mother, who was sew- 
ing on one of her winter frocks. 

‘‘Oh, mother, Essie Lee’s a thief !” she cried. 

“Why, Monica ! I am surprised to hear you speak like 
that. You know we mustn’t call people ugly names. Of 
course Essie isn’t a thief,” returned Mrs. Smith. 

“Oh, but she stole Mr. Langley’s little gold thing he 
wears on his watch chain and thinks the world of. And 
she’s got it for a locket for her doll !” 

“Monica ! Monica ! Sit down there and we will talk it 
over quietly. But unless you can talk without using the 
word thief or steal we shall have to wait until later,” said 
Mrs. Smith. 

Monica drew a deep sigh as she took the seat indicated. 
“I can,” she said. 

“Very well, dear. Now, in the first place, you have 
made a mistake, Monica. Mr. Langley has his charm 
and is wearing it at this minute. Buddy Cartwright 
found it and brought it over to him a week ago today.” 

Monica gasped. “Why, mother, it looked exactly like 
it. It seems as if it must be.” 

“Well, you see that it couldn’t be. Mr. Langley cer- 
tainly didn’t have nor lose two,” said her mother. “We 
have to be very careful about judging. It is so easy to 
make mistakes. Oh, Monica, I hope you didn’t say any- 
thing unkind to Essie.” 

Monica hung her head. “I — I guess I called her a — 
you know what — ^what I promised you not to say.” 

“Oh, my dear! I am so sorry!” cried Mrs. Smith. 


144 


IN PENNY LANE 145 

“Well, there’s only one thing to be done, and I suppose 
my little girl knows what that is?” 

“Oh, mother, if you only knew how hateful Essie Lee 
is, you wouldn’t ask me to take it back!” cried Monica. 
“And, after all, if she isn’t a th — a you know what, she 
is about as bad. She isn’t the least bit careful about the 
truth. Want me to tell you about the Saratoga trunk?” 

“Perhaps not just now. For I am not thinking of 
Essie now, you see. I am thinking of my little girl,” said 
Mrs. Smith sadly. 

Monica ran to her and threw her arms about her. 

“Your own little girl is going straight over to the Lees 
and tell Essie she isn’t a — ^you know what, and that I’m 
sorry.” 

Mrs. Smith kissed her, said she would hold Melissa 
during her absence, and gave her permission to ask Essie 
to come back to tea with her. Mr. Smith would be 
home soon and he could keep the two girls happy and 
good-humoured. 

Monica had just reached the gate when she saw Essie 
rushing out of her door. She said to herself she was 
probably coming over to tell her mother what she had 
said. She stopped short, wondering what to do. 

When Essie caught sight of her, she began to run. 
Monica’s heart beat quickly. Perhaps Essie was terribly 
angry. Perhaps she would strike her. She shrank back 
a bit. But Essie flew past her and on to the parsonage. 
There she went round to the side door of Mr. Langley’s 
study, which opened upon a little porch. She was going 
to tell Mr. Langley what Monica had said, so that he 
would never let Joe play with her again! Monica herself 
began to run and flew into the study just as Essie began 
to speak. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


E ssie lee put the little gold charm into Mr. Lang- 
ley’s hand. 

'^Mother said to bring it over — soon as ever I could, 
Mr. Langley,” she said, stopping between the words to 
gasp for breath. “She would — have come — too, but the 
baby’s teething and she — can’t leave him. I never knew 
it was yours at all and — I’m not a thief. Mother says 
I’m not!” and she glared fiercely at Monica. 

“Of course you are not, Essie,” declared Mr. Langley, 
who was looking very much puzzled. “I am— delighted 
to get this; but — ^how did you come by it, anyhow?” 

“Ruthy gave it to me yesterday. She found it in the 
lane a long while ago, and yesterday she let Rover into 
the spare chamber and he got on the new counterpane 
and blacked it all up, and she gave this to me for Bessy 
Gertrude for not telling mother on her. She’s going to 
try to wash it. I never dreamed what you lost was any- 
thing like this, and anyway, I had almost forgotten 
about it.” 

“Naturally, after all this time,” remarked Mr. Lang- 
ley, who didn’t seem at all like himself. Essie, who didn’t, 
like Monica, notice that he wore another charm exactly 
like this on his chain, thought she must have broken in 
upon him in the midst of writing a sermon. 

“Mother said it was all right to come straight to your 
study as long as it was afternoon and Saturday,” she 

146 


IN PENNY LANE 147 

said. “I am — I might have got all mixed up if I had 
told Mrs. Langley.” 

‘‘Certainly, it was all right. That latch string is always 
out afternoons, though I am more or less of a bear and 
growl if anyone approaches it mornings,” returned Mr. 
Langley. 

He turned the charm over in his hand. “See, here are 
my initials and the date of my graduation from college,” 
he said. “Come, Monica; don't you want to see, too?” 

“If Essie is willing,” replied Monica meekly. 

“Of course I am willing,” declared Essie loftily, who 
didn't venture, in the presence of Mr. Langley, to speak 
as she would have liked to. 

While the girls looked at it, Mr. Langley went into 
another room to see if he could find some peppermints. 
As soon as the door closed behind him, Monica put her 
hand over Essie's. 

“Honest and true, Essie, I was just starting out to go 
to your house to tell you I was sorry for calling you such 
a name, and now of course I am all the sorrier. I am 
going to be more careful always and it was good of you 
not to tell Mr. Langley,” she declared. 

“I wanted to, but I'm glad I didn't,” Essie owned. 

“And mother says I may ask you to come to tea. Can 
you, Essie?” 

“I guess I can if you come with me and ask mother,” 
returned Essie pleasantly. And then Mr. Langley came 
in. 

He gave them marshmallows, apologising with a 
twinkle in his eye because they were not peppermints. 
They talked for a few minutes and then the girls arose to 
go. Mr. Langley held out a five-dollar bill to Essie. 


148 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Mrs. Langley offered that as a reward to the one 
finding the charm,” he said, not adding that the reward 
had already been paid once. “I should think you and 
Ruthy might divide it between you. And if you feel like 
accepting a suggestion from me, I think it would be a 
good idea if you first take out enough to pay for having 
the counterpane sent to the laundry at Wenham and then 
share the remainder.” 

“Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Langley, we surely will,” cried 
Essie. “And please thank Mrs. Langley for Ruthy and 
me. 

The girls went out, arm in arm. After they had gone, 
Mr. Langley took out the charm which he had been wear- 
ing for a week, examined it, and found that it belonged 
to Reuben Cartwright. He couldn’t help smiling, though 
he sighed, too, for he knew how bad Ruddy’s father 
would feel. For Ruddy, of course, was at the bottom of 
the mischief. 

But he did not have to worry lest Professor or Mrs. 
Cartwright, who were Reuben and Rusty to him always, 
would be over-severe with their little daughter. So he 
simply mailed the charm to its owner, saying that by some 
mistake he had found himself in possession of it in 
addition to his own which some of the school children had 
found. 

The following week he had a letter from Ruddy, who 
expressed herself surprisingly well for one who spelled 
so badly and was seldom willing to sit still long enough 
to write a letter. 

“Dear Uncle Russell, I did not know that was stealing. 
I am not so old as Jooey and father ought not to ixpex me 


IN PENNY LANE 


149 


to know everything. I never tolled a lie sints lass winter 
and I never steal till I took fathers sharm. I am verry 
sorry. Dont not tell jooey. My father loves me. He 
wont not by Buddy a biskle. Give Ant Ella this 5 Dollers. 
It is out of my Bank. Baby has got anuther teeth. Your 
loveing Rowena Cartwright.’* 


CHAPTER XXIX 


M r. and Mrs. Smith played croquet with Essie and 
Monica until tea time. They had popovers and 
omelette and chocolate and whipped-cream cake for tea. 
and played a guessing game at table, and the little girls 
parted better friends than they had ever been before. And 
though Monica continued to spend all the time she could 
with Joe, and Essie and Meta Phillips remained chums, 
when Joe’s society was not to be had, and when Meta, 
who lived below the church, was not available, Monica and 
Essie played with each other and got along with little 
difficulty. Consequently when Essie overheard a startling 
secret, she took her first opportunity to tell Monica 
about it. 

A cousin of Mrs. Lee’s, who had lived in Farleigh ten 
years before, was visiting her. On the evening of her 
arrival, Ruthy made a remark about Joe Langley at the 
supper table. Cousin Esther looked up in astonishment. 

"‘What’s that ? Is there another Langley family in the 
village?” she asked. 

“No, indeed, Esther. Joe is the minister’s little boy,” 
said Mrs. Lee. “Do you mean you never heard of that?” 

“You don’t mean — ” began Cousin Esther. But Mrs. 
Lee, who had taught her children not to interrupt, broke 
in. 

“He’s nine years old,” she said briskly. “I’ll tell you 
all about it later, Esther, but I want to tell you now about 
the Russell family that have bought the old Rogers estate.” 
150 


IN PENNY LANE 


151 


She went on to tell of the new people who were coming 
to Farleigh, but Essie said to herself that her mother 
couldn't fool her. She would never have set a bad 
example to Ruthy and the other younger children if she 
hadn't been anxious to change the subject. 

She was filled with curiosity. After tea, when the 
others who were not in bed were playing a game on the 
dining-room table, Essie sat quietly in a corner of the 
living-room waiting for her mother to tell Cousin Esther 
all about Joe Langley. As she waited, she tried to think 
what it might be. She thought it might have something 
to do with his white hair. Suppose his mother had 
dropped him by accident in a tub of hot water and his 
hair had been paralysed so that it could never get any 
colour ? Her mother was always warning them not to say 
anything to Joey about his hair. But whatever it was, 
Mrs. Lee seemed in no haste to begin. She seemed to 
have forgotten all about it. Essie longed to remind her 
but didn't dare, and finally eight o'clock came, and her 
mother, who hadn't seemed to know she was in the room, 
sent her off to bed. 

Of course Essie couldn’t sleep. She waited a long 
while. Then she went to the head of the stairs and lis- 
tened. She heard nothing and after a little stole back 
to bed. Before her cold feet were warm again, she heard 
the door from the parlour into the passage close softly. 
Now mother was about to tell the secret! 

Stealing down the back stairs, Essie crept into the 
dining room and hid herself in a closet between that and 
the parlour which had a door opening into each. Pressing 
her ear against the parlour door, she listened. 

At first she couldn't hear anything but a murmur. 


152 


THE NEWCOMER 


Then she caught the word Miller and a minute after the 
word Langley. Essie held her breath. She heard better 
now. She caught a good part of what her mother said, 
though it didn’t seem to mean much to her. There was 
something about sickness and a dark room and a baby 
which seemed to have died. Then it seemed that it hadn’t, 
for it seemed to be Joe. And suddenly Essie seemed to 
understand somehow that Joe wasn’t the Langley’s own 
child but had been adopted — ^just like Monica I 

As Mrs. Lee said something about the day before 
Christmas, she lowered her voice. But Essie gathered 
enough to know that there was a great excitement be- 
cause a baby was kidnapped. In the same breath, she 
seemed to be speaking of the Langley’s, and of their 
taking the baby. But as Essie pressed yet nearer, a board 
beneath her creaked and the conversation on the other 
side of the door ceased abruptly. 

“Hark! what was that?” she heard her mother say. 
Then she slipped quickly out, crept across the dining room, 
flew up the back stairs and into bed, shutting her eyes at 
once in case anyone came. But no one came and in ten 
minutes she was really asleep. And she didn’t think of 
what she had heard until the next day as she and Monica 
were swinging on the gate at the Smiths and Mr. Langley 
passed by. Then suddenly it all came back. 

She stopped the gate and stepped off. 

“Monica, what does kidnap mean?” she asked. 

“It means to steal a little boy or girl. Kid means child 
and nab means to steal,” replied Monica promptly. 

Essie drew a long breath. “Monica, do you mind if I 
speak of adopting?” she asked. 

“Not so very much,” said Monica. 


IN PENNY LANE 


153 


just want to ask if people sometimes do that instead 
of adopting children?’’ Essie asked. 

Monica considered. “I suppose so, if the children 
have good parents already that love ’em and the people 
that do it are bad people,” she said. 

‘Well, would you like anybody that was kidnabbed 
when they were babies, Monica?” 

“Of course I would, if they were good. They couldn’t 
help it,” cried Monica warmly. 

“Would you like anybody that did it — ^took a baby and 
kept it till it was much as nine years old ?” asked Essie. 

“I should hate them so I wouldn’t speak to them,” cried 
Monica promptly. 

“They might be sorry,” remarked Essie, who couldn’t 
help liking Mr. Langley herself. 

“Then why didn’t they take the baby back ?” demanded 
Monica. 

“The people that owned the baby might have been dead 
or moved away, nobody knows where.” 

Monica looked at her sharply. “Do you know anybody 
that did it, Essie?” she asked. 

**1 most wish I didn’t, because they are lovely people 
now. She isn’t so very, very lovely, but she isn’t bad,” 
replied Essie, “and he’s wonderful/* 

Monica seated herself on a part of the fence where a 
picket was missing. Suddenly she remembered what Mrs. 
Cartwright had said about people who had adopted a child 
and how she had acted as if there were something to be 
ashamed about. And her mother had acted queer, too. 
They must know about the same people of whom Essie 
spoke. 

“Do you want to know, Monica?” Essie asked. 


154 


THE NEWCOMER 


**Ye-es” said Monica faintly. 

‘Tt’ll make you sorry,” Essie declared. 

‘T don’t care.” 

“P’raps you won’t believe me?” Essie asked. 

“I promise to. Who is it?” asked Monica. 

But Essie felt she must lead up to it in order to make 
Monica believe her story. 

“My mother told Cousin Esther about it last night. 
She used to live here long ago— before I was born, even, 
and she was so surprised to hear that Mr. — that some- 
body had a little boy. And by and by mother whispered 
to her and said he wasn’t their own; he was kidnabbed.” 

“Did he seem just like their own child and they like 
his own parents and nobody knew?” asked Monica fear- 
fully. 

“I guess you’d think so, Monica Smith.” 

“I’ll give you my new pencil box if you’ll tell me, 
Essie,” proposed Monica. 

“Ho, if I tell you. I’ll tell you for nothing. But I do 
wish I had a red and blue striped pencil like yours, 
Monica.” 

“You can have it, Essie. It’s at school, but I’ll give it 
to you the first thing tomorrow morning. It’s only been 
sharpened once,” said Monica. 

Essie nodded. “Well, cross your heart not to tell,” 
she said. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Monica 
promptly. 

“Have you ever thought how Mrs. Langley looks as 
old as Ruddy’s Grandma Miller and a lot older?” Essie 
asked. 


IN PENNY LANE 


155 


‘‘Why, no; but I guess she does,” said Monica. 

“Well, she isn^t his mother at all. She isn't his grand- 
mother, either. And Mr. Langley isn't his father. They 
wanted a baby just awful, specially Mr. Langley, and he 
kidnabbed Joe when he was little.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


Meta, did you ever hear of anything so per- 
fectly awful as for Miss Hatch to give Tommy 
Jennings that back seat?’’ cried Essie as soon as Meta 
Phillips was near enough to hear her. She walked out 
towards the Hollow nearly every noon to meet her friend, 
who lived about half way between the two parts of the 
village, but sufficiently near Penny Lane to put her in that 
school. 

‘‘Tommy’s rough, but he has been pretty good in 
school, and of course that’s all Miss Hatch knows,” Meta 
observed. 

“That’s the worst of it, he’s so deceitful,” Essie de' 
dared. “He said Joe Langley was a towhead and hadn’t 
any muscle, and then just a few days ago what do you 
think he was doing? He was trying to make Joe bat a 
ball — or else throw it — ^with his left hand so’s he’d be a 
southpaw.” 

“Oh, my! Did he do it?” asked Meta eagerly. 

“I don’t know,” returned Essie shortly. “I just hate 
boys — most of them.” 

“I guess you’ll be glad, Essie, when Tommy goes back 
home again,” observed Meta sympathetically. 

“Oh, just won’t I!” And Essie sighed deeply. 

^“And your mother, too, I guess?” 

“She ought to be, but you never can tell. She’s really 
awfully queer. You’d never believe it, Meta, your mother 
is so sweet always to you, but sometimes mother acts as 
156 


IN PENNY LANE 


157 


if she thought lots more of Tommy than she does of me. 
She’ll say something horrid to me and nice to him right 
in the same breath. And she hasn’t got the excuse Miss 
Hatch has, for she knows how bad he is.” 

‘Ts he bad right before her?” Meta asked wonderingly. 

‘'Oh, no ; he makes believe he’s good as pie,” said Essie 
scornfully. “You know we all have to do some house- 
work every day and a lot on Saturdays. Well, before 
he had been here a week. Tommy said to mother he 
wanted to do some, too. If you could have heard her 
praise him. Honestly, it made me sick. And, you know, 
he had to be sent in to us because he was so bad to his own 
mother she got sick and couldn’t get well with him in 
the house.” 

“Did' your mother give him anything to do?” Meta 
enquired. 

“Yes, he goes for the baby’s milk night and morning — 
mother won’t give baby milkman’s milk, she’s so fussy. 
And he minds the baby while mother puts the little boys 
to bed. Ruthy used to do both. You can just bet mother 
didn’t take anything off my shoulders.” 

Meta was silent. She knew that Essie and Ruth were 
supposed to make the beds together in the morning, but 
that in fact Essie followed her younger sister around with 
a book and read stories while Ruthy did the work. 

“And now what do you think?” Essie went on indig- 
nantly. “Mother’s going to have ice cream tonight in 
honour of Tommy’s getting the back seat and surprise 
him. She’ll spoil him and Aunt Fanny will feel all the 
worse because he was supposed to learn manners and all 
that. Why, his father begged and pleaded with mother 
to take him before his mother died in her bed and his 


158 


THE NEWCOMER 


Aunt Hannah went stark crazy. And mother couldn’t 
very well say no then, or she’d a felt like a murderer.” 

'T guess it’s murder^.y.y when it’s a lady,” murmured 
Meta gently as they entered the school yard. 

Essie sighed. ‘Tf Tommy goes on he’ll be one some 
day, anyhow,” she said. “Miss Hatch ought to under- 
stand about him, so she could watch him more. Some 
day he’ll do something frightful and then she’ll be sorry^ 
I couldn’t tell her because she would call it telling tales 
and mother’d give me fits. But mother ought to. She 
knows Miss Hatch so well that she calls her Margaret.” 

“Oh, well, it won’t be long before she finds out. You 
know anybody can’t go on pretending to be good when 
they’re really bad. It says in the Bible, ‘Can the leopard 
change his spots ?’ ” 

This prophecy cheered Essie. She began at once to 
look for some ill deed on Tommy’s part which should 
open Miss Hatch’s eyes to his real nature. And truly, 
the moment seemed to have come that very afternoon. 

Directly after recess. Miss Hatch announced to the 
children that she had something pleasant to tell them. 
The committee that was making plans for the dedication 
of the new library had decided to allow their school a 
part in the program. 

“Our school is the youngest to be represented. They 
planned first to have it in the evening and not have any- 
one below Miss Merriman’s room, but now- they will have 
the exercises in the afternoon and take us in.” 

“Oh, my goodness me! but it just spoils everything 
having it in the daytime!” cried Tommy Jennings, sud- 
denly and despairingly. And Essie wondered what Mis§ 
Hatch thought now of the boy she had just moved into 


IN PENNY LANE 


159 


a back seat. But Miss Hatch wasn’t the least bit cross. 

‘‘Tommy, you forgot to raise your hand and you for- 
got something else, I think,” she reminded him. 

Tommy’s cheeks grew crimson and something very 
unfortunate might have happened if Essie hadn’t just at 
that moment turned and looked meaningly at Meta. 
Tommy understood that look. And suddenly he remem- 
bered, he hardly knew why, what Ruthy had said about 
it’s being impossible to be a holy terror with anyone so 
good as Miss Hatch was that day Pedro came to school. 
He drew a long breath, then raised his hand. 

“Yes, Tommy,” said the teacher. 

“I forgot how — ^how to address a lady,” Tommy said 
politely. “But I wasn’t really and truly cross at you, 
but at them for putting it in the daylight, as if we were 
babies. I’ll tell you about it after school.” 

“You may tell me now, Tommy, only be careful how 
you express yourself,” Miss Hatch said kindly. “The 
others will want to hear, too, I am sure. And when you 
are done, if others wish to give their opinion, they will 
have a chance.” 

“Well, you see. Miss Hatch, half the fun of anything 
like that is being out after dark,” Tommy explained. 
“They might better not ask us at all if they change it all 
over and leave the best part out.” 

Joe Langley raised his hand. 

“Yes, Joey?” the teacher asked. 

“Something like asking little boys to Thanksgiving 
dinner and then having bread and milk,” he observed. 

“Just zackly !” cried Tommy excitedly. “And it’s sucb 
fun at night. If you’ve hardly ever in all your life been 
out at night, it’s fun even if what you go to isn’t fun a 


160 


THE NEWCOMER 


bit. Everything sparkles in the light, and the music 
sounds like the circus and if you don’t understand the big 
words the men that stand up in front say, you can count 
the lights in the chanticleer.” 

Miss Hatch smiled. “I think you have given your 
views very clearly. Tommy,” she said. “Now has anyone 
anything to say on the other side ?” 

Essie raised her hand. 

“There would be some little children below this school 
that could go with their mothers if it was in the afternoon, 
and they would be disappointed if it was in the evening,” 
she said. 

Nearly everyone knew that Essie was referring to 
Ruthy. Miss Hatch said to herself Essie was very 
thoughtful. But those who knew how Essie imposed upon 
her little sister thought Essie was speaking partly for 
show and partly to oppose Tommy. 

Monica Smith raised her hand. “Our fathers could 
go, too, if ’twas in the evening, but they have to work in 
the afternoon,” she said. Miss Hatch said that was a 
good point, and Joe Langley added that if the fathers and 
mothers both went perhaps the medium little children 
could go too. 

“Spangles would shine more at night,” Essie Lee de- 
clared. But she coloured when the children laughed. 
How did they know she was thinking of herself taking a 
prominent part in the program clad in a velvet gown 
with low neck and spangles ? Miss Hatch pitied her con- 
fusion and said nothing as to her speaking for both sides. 
Essie did not appreciate this, but when Miss Hatch said 
that of course Friday evening would be the only one pos- 
sible for school children, and Tommy said he could stay 


IN PENNY LANE 


161 


over until Saturday though his mother and Pedro and 
Clay would miss him like fun, she was shocked that Miss 
Hatch didn’t scold him for being so stuck-up. As if it 
mattered whether he came or not, since he didn’t really 
belong to the school at all, she said to Meta after school. 
They could dedicate that library without Tommy Jen- 
nings, she guessed, easy as pie. 

When everyone had spoken who wished. Miss Hatch 
said they would vote on the question. All those who 
would prefer to have the exercises in the evening wer« 
to raise their right hands. Everyone voted for it except 
Essie, who really wished to do so, though her pride 
wouldn’t let her. 

‘Tt is a vote — almost unanimous, for all but one wish 
the occasion to be in the evening,” said Miss Hatch. 

Joe raised his hand. “Won’t you please vote, too, Miss 
Hatch?” he asked. 

Miss Hatch smiled and raised her right hand. 

“Oh, jolly, that makes it umanibus !” cried Tommy. 

“It isn’t unanimous unless everyone votes one way, but 
I think we may call it an overwhelming majority in 
favour,” said the teacher. 

Essie Lee drew a deep breath. Then she put up her 
hand. 

“Please may I change my vote — Miss Hatch? I’d like 
to vote for it,” she said. 

“Indeed you may, Essie,” assented Miss Hatch warmly. 
“And I declare the vote unanimous.” 

“And we’ll have it in the evening?” asked Tommy 
eagerly. 

“Oh, Tommy, I can’t tell. I’m sure. We don’t decide 
it, of course. But I will see Mr. Langley, who is chairman 


162 


THE NEWCOMER 


of the committee of arrangements as well as on the school 
board, and say to him that our school respectfully re- 
quests that there be no change in the original plan of hold- 
ing the exercises in the evening. And I will tell him our 
reasons.’’ 

“Then I bet it goes through,” declared Tommy warmly. 
And then the school turned happily to their lessons and 
no one missed a word when they wrote their spelling. 

As Essie and Meta were walking home together after 
school, Essie had just remarked that Tommy would feel 
smarter than ever now, when Tommy overtook them. 

“Glad you voted for evening, Ess,” he remarked in an 
off-hand manner. “It’s a lot better having it u-u-you 
know what.” 

“So’m I glad. I’d much rather have it at night,” re- 
turned Essie promptly. 

Tommy ran on. 

“He isn’t so bad as he was. Living with us has helped 
some,” Essie admitted. A few minutes later she wished 
she had been less grudging. Just as they reached the gate 
at the Lees’, Tommy rushed out. 

“Aunt Lena’s going to have a little party for supper to- 
night with ice cream and choc-late cake, and she says I 
can invite one person — ^anybody I choose. And I invite 
you, Meta. Rush home and ask your mother because 
we’re going to play games, George and Charley and Ruthy 
and us three.” 

“Oh, Tommy, wouldn’t you rather have a boy?” cried 
Meta. 

“I can’t bother to go round hunting up boys,” returned 
Tommy loftily. “Run along, Meta.” 

“I’m crazy to come. Thank you ever so much,” said 


IN PENNY LANE 


163 


Meta and started to run. Tommy, too, started to run into 
the house, but Essie stopped him. 

“You're the best boy I know. Tommy,” she declared. 
“I don’t see how you can be so good to me as to ask 
Meta.” 

“Oh, shucks, I like her myself,” Tommy declared. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


T he old town house at Farleigh had been pulled down 
directly after town-meeting in the spring, and a beau- 
tiful library building, which included a large, handsome 
assembly hall, had since been erected upon the old site. 
When it was decided that the dedicatory exercises should 
be held in the evening, it was thought well to take advan- 
tage of the Friday of the full moon. Wherefore, things 
were somewhat hurried, as that occurred only ten days 
after the vote had been taken in Miss Hatches school, 
which really decided the matter. Miss Hatch didnT mind. 
She said she would rather work harder for a short time 
than to have rehearsals dragging along for weeks. 

The moon rose in a clear sky that Friday evening and 
lighted a perfect night. Within the fine new building, 
the lights were many and brilliant enough to satisfy even 
Tommy Jennings. The platform or stage of the hall was 
decorated with branches of oak leaves in their autumn 
colouring. Four ladies and as many gentlemen occupied 
seats upon it which were set back to allow space for the 
program. The ladies were members of the library com- 
mittee, Mrs. Smith being one. The gentlemen were Mr. 
Langley, Mr. Lorraine, the new librarian, Mr. Richard 
Cartwright, who was to play the organ, and Colonel 
Wadsworth, the donor of the library. The two latter 
were strangers to most of the children. Colonel Wads- 
worth was a fine looking man of nearly eighty. He had 
grown up in Farleigh and had been graduated with the 
164 - 


IN PENNY LANE 


165 


first class at the academy when the school was new, some 
sixty-odd years before. He lived now in New York City 
and was so wealthy that he could have eaten from dishes 
of gold, had he so desired. But he was a man of simple 
tastes and liked nothing so well as to get back to his 
native village where he always stayed with the Langleys. 
The Colonel’s bearing was stern and military, but his eyes 
twinkled with happiness to-night. He had left the matter 
of the new building wholly in Mr. Langley’s hands, and he 
was more than satisfied with the result. When he was not 
gazing round the hall and discovering some new beauty, 
he was looking fondly at Mr. Langley, who was nearer 
to the old man than anyone else in the world. It warmed 
his heart to see how young the minister appeared. He 
looked younger to-night than he had ten years ago, be- 
fore little Joe was born. 

The younger children thought that if Colonel Wads- 
worth was nearly eighty, Mr. Lorraine must be about 
ninety, for his hair was snow white while Colonel Wads- 
worth’s was iron grey. It seemed very odd to them that 
he should begin to be a librarian at ninety. But after- 
wards their parents told them he was only about the same 
age as Mr. Langley, and bade them notice that he looked 
nearly as young except for his white hair. He was a 
tall man, broad-shouldered but thin, with dark, mournful 
eyes and a pale, sad face. But his expression was so 
sweet and his eyes so gentle that everyone looked forward 
to going to the library for books. 

The exercises were very interesting and the time 
occupied not too long. To the children, it was a thrilling 
occasion and one to be remembered and talked of all 
through the year. Mr. Cartwright played a beautiful 


166 


THE NEWCOMER 


prelude of his own composition and a selection from 
Bach at the close and accompanied the singing ; and every 
one admitted that the pipe organ was finer than that at 
the church. There was a great deal of singing, each 
selection by a different school, the stage being large 
enough to hold all the pupils of any one school at a time. 
The girls of Miss Hatch's school wore white frocks and 
the boys white blouses and ties with their dark suits. It 
was said afterwards that Colonel Wadsworth thought 
their singing best of all. Certainly their high-pitched, 
thin voices were wonderfully silvery and sweet. But 
George Lee said that the Colonel would have said that of 
any bunch Joe Langley was in because the old man was 
wild over that solemn-eyed, white-haired kid. 

Mr. Langley delivered the principal speech of the eve- 
ning, which seemed very short indeed, and yet wasn't 
really. Probably his own little Joe was the only child in 
the audience to understand everything he said; but all 
understood enough to hold their attention, and Tommy 
Jennings did not get a moment to count the lights in the 
chandelier. When he could understand, he was all ears 
for the speech, and when he couldn't, he was trying to 
remember words or people's names he didn't know to ask 
his mother or Clayton next day. The worst was, he 
couldn't recall one afterwards. 

Colonel Wadsworth spoke briefly and with great 
dignity, and Mr. Lee spoke as one of the trustees of the 
library. The pupils of the academy gave a short his- 
torical play, and some of Miss Hatch's school were in a 
tableau representing Christopher Columbus at the court 
of Queen Isabella. Joe Langley was Columbus, and a 
very graceful, courtly figure with his silver hair and velvet 


IN PENNY LANE 


167 


tunic. Dark-eyed Monica was a brilliant little queen, with 
a jewelled crown on her dark hair. Meta was a lady-in- 
waiting, and Roger Lee was the dearest little page that 
ever held up a court train. Neither Essie nor Tommy 
had any part. Miss Hatch rather wanted Essie to appear 
as a court lady and satisfy her heart’s desire by wearing 
a spangled gown ; but she hardly felt that it would be well 
for Essie. Mrs. Lee was thankful that the question of 
her taking part did not come up, and Essie herself, if she 
was disappointed, had nothing to say. As for Tommy, it 
never once occurred to him that he might have taken part. 
He sang lustily but sweetly with the others and he admired 
the tableau enthusiastically. He described it so well next 
day to his mother, who was fast regaining her strength, 
that she felt as if she had seen it. And even Aunt Hannah 
said that Tommy must have sat very still to have taken 
in so much. 

While the tableau, which was really pantomime, was 
in progress, Mr. Langley quietly left the stage. People 
supposed that he wished to sit down with the audience in 
order to see the better. The fact was, he had seen a 
little unexpected, uninvited personage steal into the rear 
of the hall and pause there, half frightened, half dazed. 
Little Walter Lee had escaped from his bed and the house, 
where he and the baby and Katy had been alone, and made 
his way through the empty moonlit streets to the scene 
of festivities, arriving just in time to see Roger in a 
velvet costume standing on a platform with others as if 
they were a picture in a book. His little coat was drawn 
over his night-clothes, back- forward, but his tousled head 
was uncovered and his feet protected only by the flannel 
boots in which his sleeping garment terminated. Mr. 


168 


THE NEWCOMER 


Langley picked him up gently and held him in a com- 
fortable position until the scene was over. 

As the children who had taken part left the platform, 
Tommy Jennings bethought him to turn around to see 
where Mr. Langley was sitting. He spied little Walter 
at once and tiptoed back. 

‘T’ll take little Walter home, Mr. Langley,” he said. 

‘‘Does his mother feel that he ought to go?” asked Mr. 
Langley, holding the little fellow close. 

“She doesn’t know ,and I don’t b’leeve she’d better,” 
whispered Tommy. “She’d be awful mad and prob’ly 
Walter’d begin to howl an’ ev’rything would be spoiled. 
I can get him home easy. Walter likes me next best to 
Ruthy, and I’d thought I’d save her going, as she would 
if she knew. And I can run all the way back again and 
won’t miss much. I can run like a race-horse, you see.” 

“I know you can. Tommy, for I have seen you. And 
it’s good of you to offer and thoughtful to wish to spare 
Ruthy; but I think I’d better do it, because I can carry 
the little fellow, and you see his feet aren’t very well shod 
for a frosty night. I’ll be back before this music comes 
to an end. Keep it dark, won’t you?” 

He was back in his place very shortly. The exercises 
came to an end, and he invited the company to inspect the 
building and enjoy a social hour in the library proper. 
While the older people inspected, most of the children 
scampered about through the corridors, flew up and down 
stairs, and slid and skated on the polished floors. Where- 
fore they were ready for the social hour in the library 
and as hungry as if they hadn’t had supper before they 
came. They were allowed to partake of everything ex- 
cepting salads and coffee, and they preferred the sand- 


IN PENNY LANE 


169 


wiches and chocolate they had instead. The cakes were 
delicious and very abundant as were also the ices, which 
were the very nicest any child in Farleigh had ever eaten. 
Afterwards people just talked, Tommy supposed. He 
couldn^t go further than his last plate of tutti-frutti ice 
in his recital to his mother. For he took from a low 
shelf a wonderful illustrated copy of the Swiss Family 
Robinson and was lost in that when Charley Lee came to 
tell him that everyone was going home. 

‘‘And we went straight to bed when we got home, and 
what time do you guess it was, mother?” he asked eagerly. 

“It must have been well after nine,” his mother re- 
marked. 

“It was half past ten and a few seconds more!” he 
said solemnly. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


AFTER the excitement connected with the dedication 
of the library was over and she had had time to 
think about the strange story Essie had told her, Monica 
was surprised at her own feeling in regard to it. More 
than once, she had thought that if only she could discover 
some other child who had been adopted, she would find 
great satisfaction in knowing her. Sometimes, when 
some girl had taunted her in anger with the fact, she had 
wished that she would turn out to be the very person of 
whom Mrs. Cartwright had spoken, so that she could pay 
her back for her unkindness. But she felt only shocked 
and very, very sorry to learn about Joe Langley. Joey 
was so good that if ever a child deserved real parents, 
it was he. And he was so very fond of them, especially 
of his father, that Monica felt as if it would almost kill 
him to learn the truth. And when she thought of the 
other terrible fact — that his father had kidnabbed him — 
she knew Joey could never hear it and live. 

Monica herself felt very sorry about Mr. Langley. But 
it had all happened a long while ago, and Mr. Langley 
seemed so good that she felt that he must somehow have 
made it right meantime. Perhaps he had offered to give 
the baby back, and the parents had said they were used 
to getting along without him, and he might as well keep 
him. And if they were poor, Mr. Langley would give 
them a lot of money. He must be rich, with two great 
170 


IN PENNY LANE 171 

baskets full of silver and bills coming to him every 
Sunday ! 

The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. 
And after a little she wished that Essie hadn’t told her. 
She couldn’t forget it while she was alone, and when 
she was with Joe she thought of nothing else. And she 
was afraid that she might say something that would make 
him guess it. But she had crossed her heart not to tell. 

As she considered it, it came to her that it would have 
been far better if Essie Lee had never overheard her 
mother telling the story. For now Essie never saw 
Monica that she didn’t have something to say about their 
secret. Suppose Essie should be careless and someone 
else should find out and tell Joe ! 

One day at recess of the week following the opening 
of the library, as Essie, Monica and Meta Phillips were 
sitting on the stone wall back of the schoolhouse waiting 
for the bell to ring, Essie caught sight of Joe Langley. 

“Oh, Monica! There’s Joe! Isn’t something — you 
know — too bad?” 

“Oh, Essie!” cried Monica in alarm. 

“Too bad he isn’t stronger,” said Essie laughing. 
“Meta, do you think he looks more like his father or his 
mother ?” 

Meta didn’t think he looked much like either. “But I 
hope he’ll grow up to look like Mr. Langley, he’s so much 
prettier than Joey’s mother,” she added. 

Essie laughed again. Meta flushed. 

“They don’t call men pretty, Meta, very much, and 
never if they are ministers, I guess,” explained Monica 
gently. But Meta’s feelings were hurt and she took her- 
self off. 


172 


THE NEWCOMER 


‘Wou know I wasn’t laughing at that, Monica Smith. 
I was laughing because Meta didn’t think Joe looked like 
his father and mother.” 

‘T don’t see anything funny in it. I think it’s terribly 
sad,” declared Monica. 

“Oh, you do, do you?” taunted Essie. 

“Yes, and oh, Essie, please don’t talk about it before 
other people,” begged Monica. “I am so afraid Joey will 
find out.” 

“Well, is Joey any better than other people ?” demanded 
Essie. 

“Why, yes, a whole lot,” returned Monica. 

“Better than you?” 

“Yes, some,” Monica admitted. 

“Better than me?” 

Monica nodded. 

“Very much better. 

Again Monica nodded. Essie lost her temper. 

“Monica Smith! You little — you little hypocrite!” she 
cried. “You don’t know anything bad I’ve ever done.” 

“It wasn’t nice for you to listen to what your mother 
didn’t want you to hear. Joe would never do that. He 
would think it perfectly terrible,” rejoined Monica. 

The bell began to ring. 

“Do you mean I’m a sneak?” cried Essie. Monica 
started to run towards the school. Essie caught hold 
of her. 

“I sha’n’t let you go until you say I’m not a sneak, 
Monica!” she cried. 

“Let me go!” cried Monica angrily. 

“Say it quick then,” ordered Essie, clutching Monica’s 
shoulders so that it hurt. 


IN PENNY LANE 


173 


can’t say it without telling a lie!” cried Monica, 
striving to free herself. Essie held her firmly, but her 
long braid hung over Monica’s shoulder and suddenly 
Monica seized that and pulled it smartly. Just as Essie 
screamed and let go, Miss Hatch, their teacher, whom 
both girls admired and loved, stood before them. Both 
girls turned crimson. 

“Why, Essie and Monica! I could scarcely believe it 
was you! I am so surprised and ashamed that I hardly 
know what to say,” Miss Hatch declared reproachfully. 
Then she bade them go in and take their seats. She would 
speak to them after school. 

Both girls had been so good in school that Miss Hatch 
had never had to correct them, and they had come to feel 
that she depended upon them and Meta Phillips particu- 
larly, and as if they were her real friends. And now she 
had seen them quarreling — almost fighting ! 

But, though they were both very much ashamed, the 
fact that Miss Hatch had seen them only added to their 
anger against each other. Each thought it was the fault 
of the other that she had forever lost the teacher’s ap- 
proval. And when Miss Hatch spoke to them after 
school, they were sulky and resentful. Monica hoped 
Miss Hatch would understand that she was wholly inno- 
cent and wished she knew how Essie had listened at the 
closet door. And Essie wished she dared tell her that 
Monica had called her a sneak. 

Miss Hatch did not give either girl this satisfaction, 
however. She spoke seriously and kindly and then let 
them go. She saw them start for home, separately yet 
near enough to continue their quarrel if they wished. She 
ran out after them. 


174 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Girls, why don’t you make it up right now?” she 
asked. “Come, you’ll feel ever so much better. Essie, 
wait a moment for Monica.” 

“I don’t dare,” Essie murmured so low that only 
Monica could hear. “My head aches yet from her yank- 
ing my hair.” 

Miss Hatch went back into the schoolhouse. 

“Mother says it’s vulgar to fight,” remarked Essie as 
she walked on. 

“Does she think it’s nice to listen behind doors?” asked 
Monica. 

“Don’t speak to me !” cried Essie. “I’ll never speak to 
you again as long as I live.” And she ran on until she 
was out of sight. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


lyrONICA was almost glad that her mother was not 
at home, for she simply had to cry. She found 
the key, unlocked the door, and went into the kitchen. 
Pulling off her jacket and throwing her tarn on top of it, 
she threw herself in the big chair and burst into tears. 
Essie was so hateful, and Miss Hatch would think she 
was vulgar and never like her again, and if she hadn’t 
pulled Essie’s hair she could never have gotten away ! 

She was sitting up drying her tears when Joe came in. 
She sighed deeply. 

‘T was afraid you would feel badly, Monica, being kept 
after school. But I think Miss Hatch will understand that 
it wasn’t your fault,” he said gently. 

*‘Oh, Joey, do you really think that?” cried Monica 
eagerly. 

Joe assured her that he did. 

‘‘You think it wasn’t my fault yourself, Joey, and you 
didn’t hear nor see ?” Monica asked. 

“I know it wasn’t,” he said. 

“Oh, Joey, you are so good. Even mother doesn’t 
understand as you do!” exclaimed Monica gratefully. 

“Your mother can’t help it. She’d like to, but she’s 
too old. My mother’s the same and perhaps a little more 
for I guess she’s still older. She looks so old that some- 
times I’m worried about her. I once heard of a man 
that died from old age,” said Joe seriously. 

He sighed. 

“But Bell understands,” he said brightening up. “I 
guess Bell must be younger than either of ’em. I don’t 
175 


176 


THE NEWCOMER 


like Bell any better than I do father and not quite so 
well, but almost, but I think she understands a weeny .bit 
more than he does. Let’s go over to see Bell now.” 

So they ran together over to Bell’s large, clean, warm, 
pleasant kitchen. 

‘‘Bell, Monica has had a hard ’sperience and I told her 
you’d comfort her,” said Joe. 

“Sure I will,” said Bell warmly and sitting down in the 
big chair took Monica in her arms. 

It wasn’t easy to tell the story, the secret being involved, 
but Monica explained as well as she could. And though 
Bell could not have had a clear idea of the situation, she 
was very sympathetic and did not ask perplexing and 
vexing questions as parents are likely to do. And she 
didn’t try to put the least blame upon Monica. She de- 
clared that Essie Lee had always been the worst behaved 
child in the neighbourhood, and that it would be a good 
thing if she kept her word and never spoke to Monica 
again. 

“And I guess the teacher knows in her heart that you 
would never have pulled her hair unless you were drove 
to it,” she declared. 

“I think you mean driven, don’t you. Bell, dear?” asked 
Joe. 

“That’s exactly what I mean — driven,** declared Bell. 

After they had talked a little more. Bell said that it 
wouldn’t hurt them to have a cup cake apiece with nuts 
in them if they would run out afterwards and play in the 
sunshine. Monica hugged and kissed her as Bell put 
her down while she got the cakes, and Joe kissed her 
before he took the first bite. And when they had eaten 
them, they ran out to have a game of croquet in Monica’s 
yard. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


J OE and Monica were playing happily when a shadow 
fell upon the croquet ground, and looking up they saw 
Essie Lee standing outside the palings on the farther side 
of the ground. Monica’s heart sank, for Essie was 
glaring at her. Quite likely she knew her mother was 
away and had come over to pull her hair. And what could 
she do? If she ran away, Essie would call her names, 
and if she fought back, Monica felt that she would truly 
be vulgar. And yet, she couldn’t just stand still and let 
Essie pull her hair I 

But there was Joe. She had forgotten him. He 
wouldn’t let Essie pull her hair, and yet a boy couldn’t 
fight a girl. And then, Essie was taller than Joey and 
three times as large. Monica felt that she would rather 
be vulgar herself than have Joe hurt. 

But Essie ignored Monica and addressed Joe. 

‘‘Want me to come and play croquet with you, Joey?” 
she asked sweetly. 

“Why, Essie, it isn’t my croquet set. I am Monica’s 
guest,” he returned in a troubled voice. 

“If it was your ground would you want me to?” she 
asked. 

“I would ask you to, if you wanted to play, Essie,” he 
said. 

“Which would you rather play with, me or Monica?” 
she demanded. 

“Monica,” he said simply. 

Essie’s eyes flashed and her cheeks grew red. 

177 


178 


THE NEWCOMER 


^‘Look out for your white hair, Joe, else Monica’ll pull 
it out by the handful,” she shouted. “It’s long enough 
for her to get a good grip, even if it isn’t so long as my 
braid that she almost yanked out by the roots. I expect 
when my father gets home he’ll go right over to Wenham 
for a pleeceman to arrest her.” 

Monica and even Joe looked startled at this. 

“But, Monica, your father wouldn’t do it. I’m sure, if 
you told him just zackly how it happened,” Joe protested. 
“Oh, won’t you please promise to be very careful to tell 
the whole truth?” 

“Joe Langley ! What do you mean ? Do you think I’m 
a liar?” demanded Essie. 

“I only asked you to be careful, same’s I have to be,” 
he said. 

“But you thought I’d lie to my father?” 

“I think if a pleeceman does come over, it will be be- 
cause your father doesn’t know the truth, Essie,” he said 
bravely. “But even if one does, my father would never 
let Monica be arrested. Monica can tell father the truth 
and he will send the pleeceman away.” 

“Ho! the pleeceman might arrest him for he’s a thief 
himself !” cried Essie. 

“Essie Lee 1” cried Joe, and throwing down his mallet, 
he ran towards the fence. 

“Your father stole you from your true parents when 
you were a baby and has kep’ you ever since. You don’t 
belong to him at all! You’re adopted and stolen both!” 
screamed Essie. “If you don’t believe it, ask Monica or 
my mother or — anybody ! So there !” 

And jumping down, she ran home and slammed her 
door behind her. 


IN PENNY LANE 


179 


Joe turned to Monica. 

“That was a real lie, a terrible lie, wasn't it, Monica ?" 
he asked. 

Monica stared at him without speaking. 

“Monica, why don’t you answer ?” he cried. 

“Oh, Joey, I don’t know. I — hope so. I hope it is a 
lie,” returned Monica miserably. 

“Why, Monica, of course I belong to my father and 
mother. I can remember when I was ever so little!” he 
exclaimed. 

“I — think you must be. Only — Mrs. Lee told Essie’s 
cousin Esther that your father — took you,” returned 
Monica reluctantly. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


T he next morning at school, Joe Langley looked so 
white and ill that Miss Hatch was frightened. She 
went to his desk. 

‘‘Do you feel ill, Joey?’^ she asked in a low voice. 

“I don’t think I feel ill. But I feel queer all over and 
I can’t put my mind on my lesson. My mind seems to 
ache, too,” he said. 

“I think you had better go home and get a rest, Joey, 
dear,” she said. “Unless you feel much better, don’t 
come back to school until Monday. You can easily make 
up your lessons.” 

It wasn’t like Joe to be willing to lose any school, but 
to-day he was glad to go home. He went straight to 
Bell, who didn’t say anything until she spoke to his father 
at noon. Then she told him that Joey was tired and Mr. 
Langley said he had better stay at home until Monday. 

Joey sat in the padded rocker in the kitchen watching 
Bell as she prepared the vegtables for dinner. Oh, if only 
it wasn’t true ! If only he could get some word from Bell 
to prove that it wasn’t true ! 

“Bell, did you used to sit in this very chair and rock 
me when I was a little weeny baby?” he asked suddenly. 

Bell looked surprised. “Yes, indeed, Joe, many’s the 
hour I rocked you when you were a baby,” she said. 
“Three weeks old?” 

“Babies that young don’t need to be rocked. They 
sleep most of the time, Joey.” 

i8o 


IN PENNY LANE 


181 


‘'Where did I sleep when I was three weeks old, Bell?” 

“I — don’t remember,” replied Bell. 

“Do you remember me when I was as young?” he 
asked. 

“I can’t say as I do. Babies so little all look alike, 
more or less,” she returned. 

“They say they don’t to their own mothers. Would 
mother remember me when I was two or three weeks 
old ?” he asked wearily. 

“I don’t believe she would, now that so many years 
have gone by since,” said Bell, rising to fill the kettle. 

“Well, would father?” 

“It’s not likely. Men aren’t great hands at the like, 
you know,” said Bell. 

“O, but father saw Aunt Rusty’s baby when it was 
two weeks old and remembered all about it to tell mother 
and you and me. I might ask him.” 

“O, Joey, I wouldn’t do it. Your father has got so 
much on his mind. And he didn’t eat much breakfast, 
either. Like as not he’s worried about something or 
other. And if you asked him and he couldn’t remember, 
he might feel troubled, you see.” 

Joe closed his eyes and did not open them again for 
some time. And when he did he said he thought he 
would go and lie on his bed until his father came out 
of his study. Bell thought he was sleepy and took him 
up and established him comfortably, kissed him and bade 
him have a good sleep. 

But Joe only lay and suffered. It was worse than he 
thought. He hadn’t been here at all as a little baby. He 
wasn’t his father’s own little boy and — ^he wouldn’t be- 
lieve his father had stolen him, but Bell said he was 


182 


THE NEWCOMER 


worried. Perhaps someone else had stolen him and given 
him to his father. And father has — what was it? A 
receiver of stolen goods! 

When Bell came up at noon Joe was awake. He didn't 
want any dinner and when his father and mother came 
up, he hadn't touched the glass of milk on the candle 
stand. He didn’t seem to want to talk and they left him. 
But after a little his father came back. 

He sat down on the bed beside him. ‘Ts anything 
troubling my little boy?” he asked gently. 

Joe confessed that there was. 

‘‘Can we talk it over a bit?” suggested his father. 

“I don’t see how we can, father,” said Joe sadly. 

Mr. Langley stroked the white hair back from the 
little boy’s forehead. “All is well between you and Mon- 
ica, isn’t it ?” he asked. 

“Yes, father.” 

Mr. Langley sat beside him for an hour, singing some 
of the hymns Joey liked and never dreaming that it 
almost broke the little boy’s heart to hear them. His 
eyes were closed, but he opened them as his father rose 
to go. 

“Father, if somebody does something bad enough to 
be arrested by a pleeceman if he was caught and then 
many years go by and he isn’t, can he be a good man 
then?” he asked. 

“He can’t unless he has made the wrong right,” Mr. 
Langley said. 

“S’pose he had — stolen?” 

“Then he would have had to make restitution, — which 
means to make the wrong right as far as possible by 
giving back what he has taken or something equal to it.” 


IN PENNY LANE 


183 


“If he did make that, then he couldn’t be sent to prison, 
could he?” asked Joe. 

“He wouldn’t be if he had so satisfied the people from 
whom he stole that they would not wish to prosecute him, 
— that is, to have him arrested and tried,” said Mr. 
Langley. 

He did not ask Joe why he wished to know this at 
this time. For the little boy was always asking deep 
questions, and his father was used to them. But he felt 
troubled to have the child so fatigued and went about 
his calls with a heavy heart. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


W HEN Monica came in after school, Joe was in the 
kitchen. He asked her to come to his father’s 
study, and Bell thought they were going to consult some 
of Mr. Langley’s books. 

“Monica, I have to go away and I want you to help 
me,” Joe said as soon as the door was closed. 

“O, Joey!” cried Monica in distress. 

“I’ve got to. I’m afraid it’s true what Essie said. I 
guess they could arrest father and put him in prison. 
The only way to save him is to make restitution.” 
“What’s that?” 

“Giving back what you took. I’m the restitution,” said 
Joe mournfully. “Father just couldn’t give me up be- 
cause of mother’s feeling so badly. But she’d feel worse 
to have him arrested and so I must make it myself. I 
must give myself back to my true parents.” 

“But, Joey, s’pose you don’t like them?” cried Monica. 
“Please, Monica, don’t speak of such things,” he 
begged. “I am nearly dead from being so sorry. Just 
help me do it.” 

“But how will you find them?” she enquired. 

“I’ll get Anna to do it. She can do an)q;hing,” he said. 
“O, yes, and I remember now, Essie said her mother 
said something about the Millers and Anna Miller. I 
guess she knows all about it,” said Monica. 

“Anna’s in the city studying music. I thought I would 
go to her to-morrow and ask her to take me to my true 

184 


IN PENNY LANE 185 

parents. And then it will be all over by Sunday. How 
do you go to the city, Monica?*’ 

“Just get in the cars and sit there until they come to 
the last place where they don’t go any furtherer,” said 
Monica. 

“I’ll have to go to Wenham to get on. I never walked 
so far as that, but p’raps I can,” he said. “Nobody must 
know.” 

“O, Joey, there’s the bake-shop wagon!” cried Monica. 
“The man goes back to Wenham every afternoon as we 
go to school. You could walk out to the bridge and 
he’d say, ‘Have a lift?’ just as he d idlast summer that 
day.” 

“O, yes. I knew you would help me, Monica,” he 
said. 

“Won’t your father be scared?” she suggested. 

“I’ll write a note like someone Bell knew long ago who 
went away unbeknownst,” he said. “I will just say I 
am giving myself up for — O, dear, I am sick of the word 
already, it sounds so cruel, but you know.” 

“But what’ll I ever do without you, Joey?” cried 
Monica. 

He had no answer. 

“Come out now and play croquet,” she asked. 

“I guess I’d better not, Monica. Let’s you and me 
walk over to meet father,” he proposed. “Then I’ll stay 
with him till I go to bed, and in the morning while he’s 
in his study I’ll stay with mother and Bell. And then — ” 

He tried to smile. 

“Then there’ll be no more Joey,” he said. And taking 
Monica’s hand he led her out to tell Bell where they were 
going. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


T he following day as the baker’s cart from Wenham 
was returning after its daily trip, the driver saw 
a little boy with a blue reefer over his checked suit and 
a parcel under his arm on the bridge just out of Penny 
Lane. As he came up to him he saw that he was an old- 
fashioned little boy with hair so pale it was almost white 
and big light-grey eyes in a serious face. He might have 
stepped out of a picture book. 

‘"Want a ride, sonny?” he asked. 

‘Thank you, sir, I would be pleased,” said the little 
boy, and climbed up beside him. 

He was a quiet little boy, very polite and ready with 
his answers, and the man enjoyed his company. But 
just before they reached the railroad tracks in Wenham 
he realized that there was something strange about a 
child so young and so well clothed to be starting out 
alone for Wenham at an hour when most children were 
in school. As he would have asked him a question, a 
woman came to the door of a house they were passing 
and asked for a loaf of bread. He took it in and stopped 
a few minutes to answer her questions as to what else 
he had left in his cart. When he came out, the little 
boy had disappeared. 

He hurried his horse, hoping to overtake him. But 
he had to wait at the crossing. He often had to wait 
for this same train, a long through train to Albany and 
the West, which passed through Wenham between one 
1 86 


IN PENNY LANE 


187 


and two of the afternoon without stopping. To-day, how- 
ever, it seemed to be slowing down. 

He was surprised to see it stop. But it was only for 
a bare second to let off an important looking gentleman 
who was probably a specialist or a railway magnate. Then 
it thundered on again. But who was that who had clam- 
bered upon one of the cars, meantime — on the car from 
which the man had alighted? 

It was the very little shaver who had come with him 
from the bridge at Farleigh. And now the man thought 
of the bundle under the little boy’s arm. Perhaps he 
was running away to go to sea! And he couldn’t have 
been eight years old! Well, he should have had his wits 
about him, but there was nothing to do now but to keep 
his ear out for word about a runaway little boy. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


B ig bell thought she knew more about little boys and 
their care than Mrs. Langley, and many people 
would have said she was right. She never criticised her 
mistress openly, but Mrs. Langley knew what she thought. 
And she knew well when Bell disapproved of her. She 
herself criticised Bell openly whenever she could get a 
chance, which wasn’t often, and she blamed her secretly 
because Joe liked to be with Bell better than with her. 

On the day when Joe went off on the baker’s cart, 
Bell watched for him to come into the kitchen after he 
had had his dinner. When he did not come, she went up 
stairs and popped her head into his room. Joey was not 
there, and going down she took her duster and went 
through the front rooms with it as if she wished to see 
if she had overlooked anything in the morning. But the 
house was very still, — almost as still as it had been in 
the old days long ago when Mrs. Langley had been an 
invalid and never left her room. Joe wasn’t with his 
mother, who was lying down, and she had seen Mr. Lang- 
ley go out alone. He couldn’t be with Monica for she 
was at school, and if he had gone over to Mrs. Smith’s, 
Bell would have seen him cross the side yard. Where 
was he? 

As it came to her that Mrs. Langley had sent him back 
to school. Bell was filled with indignation. More than 
that, she was very anxious, for she felt the little boy 
was not able to go to school. Three times during the 

i88 


IN PENNY LANE 


189 


night, Bell had stolen into his room to see if Joe was 
asleep, and as she had bent over the bed, Joey had clasped 
her hand in his little cold one. She said to herself he 
wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight. 

She waited anxiously for him to come home after 
school. Just before four, she took a cup of tea into 
the living room for Mrs. Langley, who always had it 
early. Bell’s face was gloomy, her manner ungracious, 
and she had nothing to say. 

Mrs. Langley looked at the tray. 

‘^O, Bell, I am tired of ginger cookies. I thought I 
smelled spice cake this morning,” she said. 

‘‘Do you mean to say, ma’am, that you want some 
spice cake?” asked Bell stiffly. She had felt so irritated 
at Mrs. Langley’s thoughtlessness in sending Joe to school 
without consulting her that she hadn’t cut the fresh cake 
for her. 

Mrs. Langley wondered what was wrong now. 

“Yes, Bell, I think I do,” she said graciously. “Bring 
in several pieces and let Joey come in and he can have a 
piece. It won’t hurt him. I’m sure.” 

“He ain’t home yet,” said Bell. 

“Isn’t home?” repeated Mrs. Langley. “Bell Adams! 
I hope you haven’t let that little boy go out and he half 
ill! Surely you didn’t let him go to school? At your 
age you should know better than that.” 

Bell was too anxious to take offence. “No, ma’am, I 
haven’t let him go anywhere. But I thought you had. 
I haven’t seen Joey since dinner. He must have gone 
with his father. I saw Mr. Langley go out alone, but 
perhaps he came back for Joey.” 

Mrs. Langley had sprung to her feet, white and dis- 


190 


THE NEWCOMER 


tressed. ‘‘Mr. Langley has gone way over beyond the 
Hollow to conduct a funeral service, Bell!’' she cried. 
“Where is Joey Where is my little boy?” 

“O, he’s right around here somewhere, ma’am,” Bell 
assured her cheerfully. “Sit down and drink your tea 
and I’ll find him and bring him in a jiffy. If he isn’t 
asleep in the study he’s over visiting with Mrs. Smith 
as cozy as can be. I mistrust he told his father he was 
going over and Mr. Langley forgot for once to mention 
it. I’ll bring the cake right in.” 

“O, Bell, don’t bother,” said Mrs. Langley. 

“Sure, I’ll get it, and no bother at all. And Joey’ll 
relish a piece too, for he hardly touched his dinner,” said 
Bell. 

She got the cake, then hurried over to Mrs. Smith’s. 
Joey was not there. 

“I think he went to school. I saw him going out the 
gate and down that way soon after Monica went back,” 
said Mrs. Smith. Bell hurried back. 

“He went to school, ma’am, Mrs. Smith saw him,” 
she said. “His father must have told him to. It’s Fri- 
day and like as not there’s special goin’s-on. Monica 
stopped to see him this noon and perhaps she told him 
about it. In about five minutes now you’ll see the two 
of them coming along the road together.” 

Five minutes passed, ten, and fifteen, and then half 
an hour. And still Joe had not come. Bell left the 
kitchen window and went into the living room. 

“I guess the teacher’s taken 'em all nutting like she 
did that other time,” she said. “I suppose being such 
a pleasant afternoon she made up her mind all of a sud- 
den and never thought how the parents might worry. 


IN PENNY LANE 191 

I was afraid she might be flighty, she’s so pretty to look 
at.” 

‘‘Essie went by. She’s in Joey’s school,” remarked 
Mrs. Langley. 

“So is Monica, and she hasn’t passed the house. Like 
as not the teacher wouldn’t let Essie go as a punishment. 
She’s an ill-behaved child as ever was and her little 
sister Ruthy’s like a cherub,” said Bell, and would have 
returned to the kitchen, but Mrs. Langley kept her. 

“Don’t go. Bell. Don’t leave me,” she begged. “I 
feel nervous. Don’t you?” 

“Not a bit,” Bell declared stoutly. 

“Sit down there and make yourself a cup of tea. And 
there’s all that cake. Do eat a little.” 

“O, ma’am, I couldn’t swallow one bite,” declared Bell. 

“But I thought you weren’t nervous?” asked Mrs. 
Langley. 

“I’m not really what you’d call nervous, only I’m won- 
dering if it’s damp under the trees, and I don’t like the 
notion of the teacher not being more thoughtful with 
all those little children trusted to her care,” returned Bell. 

When the clock struck five, she sprang to her feet. 

“Where are you going. Bell ?” asked Mrs. Langley. 

“I’m going to throw a shawl over my head and go out,” 
she said. 

“I’ll go with you,” said Mrs. Langley. 

“And leave the house empty, ma’am? And perhaps 
Joey coming home and being scared? Or Mr. Langley?” 
cried Bell. 

“I’ll stay,” said Mrs. Langley meekly, and fetched her 
own fur-lined cloak for Bell. It was short and too nar- 
row for her and would not come together at the throat, 


192 


THE NEWCOMER 


but Bell clutched it about her and rushed out the front 
door. At the gate she ran into Mr. Langley. 

“What is it, Bell? Is Joey ill?’’ he cried. “Shall I 
fetch the doctor?” 

“No, sir, nobody’s sick. But — did you tell Joey he 
was to go to school or out after nuts?” 

“Why, no. Bell, I haven’t seen Joe since dinner. You 
don’t mean that he’s out yet?” he asked. 

Just then Mrs. Langley called from the door and Bell 
went back into the entry with him. Mr. Langley heard 
what they had to say, asked a few questions, dropped 
his books on the table and changed his silk hat for a soft 
one. Then he rushed out, 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


he school house was dark and deserted. Mr. Lang- 
ley turned away, got a horse and drove at full 
speed down to the Hollow to the Hatche's to see Marg- 
aret, Joe^s teacher. But she said that Joe hadn’t been at 
school that afternoon, and he hurried back to the Smiths’, 
saying to himself that he should have stopped there first. 

It was six o’clock when he reached the house and he 
found Mr. and Mrs. Smith in a state of excitement. Mr. 
Smith had come home from the shop to find that Monica 
hadn’t been seen since she went back to school at noon. 
He had gone over to the Lees’ to enquire. Essie said that 
Monica had been at school and had been dismissed with 
the rest, and she supposed she had come home as usual. 
When Mr. Langley came in, Mr. Smith had been about 
to start for the Hollow to see if Monica could have gone 
home with Meta Phillips. 

Mr. Langley’s alarm increased. It was a serious mat- 
ter, for both children were gone, though Monica had 
been seen at four o’clock and Joe had been missing since 
noon. Mr. Langley said he would go and make enquiries 
of the neighbours living on the other side of the parson- 
age and would then return and they would plan for a 
systematic search. 

He returned shortly to say that no one had seen Joe. 
He was surprised to find Monica sitting in Mrs. Smith’s 
lap, but frightened, for she was sobbing wildly. Mrs. 
Smith had gone up stairs to see if Monica had taken 
193 


194 


THE NEWCOMER 


Melissa, and hearing a smothered sob had found the little 
girl underneath her bed. Thus far she had only cried 
and said that Joe was gone. 

Mr. Langley put his hand gently on her shoulder. 

‘‘Monica, I hope very much you can help us, dear,’’ he 
said softly. “We are all very much worried because 
Joey cannot be found. Do you know where he is?” 

Monica shook her head. 

“But you knew he wasn’t here?” 

Monica raised her head and nodded, then hid her face 
on her mother’s breast. 

“You don’t mean to say that someone took Joey?” he 
asked anxiously. 

“No, sir, he just — went,” sobbed the little girl. 

“But where did he go and why?” cried Mr. Langley 
in such an anxious tone that Monica sat up and choked 
back her sobs. 

“It was Essie’s fault, and I don’t care if I am telling 
tales, and I hate her !” she cried. 

“I’ll go over to the Lees’,” Mr. Langley said to Mrs. 
Smith. “Perhaps after Monica has had her tea she will 
be able to tell you more.” 

The Lees were at tea, but he wouldn’t wait. Neither 
would he spare Essie, for it might be that there wasn’t 
a minute to lose. 

“Pardon me for disturbing you,” he said, “but I must 
speak to Essie at once. Our little Joe is missing. He 
hasn’t been seen since noon. Do you know where he is, 
.Essie?” 

“No, indeed, Mr. Langley,” replied Essie, but she 
coloured. 

“Do you know anything about him?” 


IN PENNY LANE 


195 


“No, sir, I haven’t seen him since the last day he was 
at school. Have I mother?” 

Mrs. Lee turned to Mr. Langley. ‘1 don’t think Essie 
has seen Joey since that time, Mr. Langley,” she said 
and walked to the door with him. 

“Why did you ask Essie?” she asked in a low voice. 

“Monica Smith, who is in a state of excitement over 
it all, says that it is Essie’s fault, whatever that may 
signify,” he returned. 

Before Mrs. Lee could reply, Mr. Smith burst in. He 
handed Mr. Langley a folded sheet of paper. 

“Bell found that on your study table,” he said. 

Mr. Langley held it up to the dim light of the hanging 
lamp and read the note. It was from Joe — ^the only one 
his father had ever received from him, for they had never 
been separated over night since Joe had been old enough 
to write. 

“Dear Father, I must go away and be restutushun to 
my own parents. I love you and Bell and Mother. Good 
bye. From Joe.” 

For a moment Mr. Langley stared at the words which 
all ran together before his eyes. Then he asked Mrs. Lee 
to bring Essie out. 

“Essie, I want you to tell me this. Have you told 
Joe anything he did not know before about himself?” he 
asked sternly. 

Now Essie coloured hotly. 

“I — I told Monica something,” she said. 

“What did you tell her ?” demanded her mother. 

“I told her that Joe wasn’t — Mr. Langley’s and Mrs. 
Langley’s own child,” she said sulkily. 


196 


THE NEWCOMER 


“Why, Esther Lee ! You don’t know one thing about 
it !” cried her mother. 

“I heard someone say it,” said Essie. 

“And you repeated it? Oh, Essie, how could you?” 
asked Mrs. Lee. And Essie saw that there were tears in 
her eyes. 

Mr. Langley drew a deep sigh. “I suppose it was only 
natural. Essie is only a little girl and could hardly be 
expected to exercise judgment,” he said quietly. 

He looked very white and it suddenly seemed to Essie 
as if he were much older than on the day she had taken 
the charm over and he had brought out the marshmallows 
and given her and Ruthy five dollars. And when he asked 
her a question, she seemed forced to tell the exact truth. 

“You repeated this tale to Monica, then, Essie, and she 
told Joe?” he asked. 

“I told Joe myself. Monica was hateful to me and 
Joe took sides with her against me and I got mad and 
told him,” she owned. “But I didn’t think he’d care — 
much, and I’m sorry.” 

Bursting into tears, she slipped from her mother’s grasp 
and ran up the stairs. Mr. Langley spoke comfortingly 
to Mrs. Lee then hurried back to the parsonage and told 
his wife and Bell what he had learned. Joe had dis- 
covered that he was an adopted child and had evidently 
been so shocked that he had run away. He showed them 
the note. Mrs. Langley read it aloud. 

“Oh, the poor lamb! He thinks his own parents are 
alive and that’s why he went. He’s so honest he’d think 
he had to I” cried Bell, raising her apron to wipe the tears 
from her face. 

“Ah, I believe you are right. Bell, for that explains the 


IN PENNY LANE 


197 


restitution,^^ said Mr. Langley. **]oGy thinks his parents 
have been deprived of him all this time. Well, I must be 
off at once. I will go Wenham way and get Smith to go 
towards the Hollow. I’ll stop at the post office and tele- 
graph to the police station at Wenham, and — ^what is it 
Bell?” 

“You think he’s a-walking, then, sir?” 

“Yes, Bell, Joey wouldn’t know how to take a train,” 
he said. 

“The money from both his banks is gone,” she said. 

Mrs. Langley cried out. Mr. Langley looked at Bell. 

“What would be your idea. Bell ?” he asked. 

“If I may be so bold, sir, I should go straight to Anna 
Miller in your place. I mistrust Joey’d go to her for help. 
And I shouldn’t wonder at all if he started off so as to 
get the four o’clock train.” 

Mr. Langley’s face was less sober. “I believe you are 
right !” he cried almost eagerly. “I am almost sure you’re 
right. I’ll go to my study and get Anna’s address and 
then I’ll start right off.” 

“But there’s no train now till ten o’clock, sir,” Bell 
reminded him. “You can eat your supper first and then 
Mrs. Langley will take a bite, too, and can bear up better 
till you come back. Mr. Smith’ll drive you over and you 
have oceans of time. Sit right down and I’ll have it on 
the sofy in a jffy — I mean on the table.” 

“Right again. Bell, and for the third time,” he said. 
“And I’ll agree to eat my supper if you will lay a place 
for yourself and eat with us so that I can assure myself 
that you are fortified for the night as well as Mrs. 
Langley.” 


CHAPTER XL 


it was, Mr. Langley reached the station at Wenham 



with an hour to spare before he could take the train 
for New York. He wouldn’t allow Mr. Smith to wait, 
for he wished him to be at home where Mrs. Langley 
could call upon him at need. As soon as he had gone, he 
went to the ticket window and asked if a little boy had 
purchased a ticket that afternoon. 

“No, Mr. Langley, but there’s some talk up in the 
street about a little boy’s running away to sea and steal- 
ing a ride on a train that passed through here,” the agent 
said. 

“But this is a very small boy,” murmured Mr. Langley. 
“And you said this other boy was going to sea?” 

“That’s how it came to me. Holmes that told me said 
Davis, that drives the bakery cart, told him.” 

“Do you happen to know where Davis lives?” asked 
Mr. Langley, who had time to go to find him. 

“He’ll be in the bake-shop tonight. You can catch him 
there if you hurry,” said the man. And Mr. Langley got 
a carriage and was driven to the shop. He asked for Mr. 
Davis and a man in a white cap and apron came in. 

“How do you do, Mr. Langley?” he said. Everyone 
in Wenham knew Mr. Langley. 

Mr. Langley explained his errand. 

“I took in a little fellow in checked pantaloons and a 
dark jacket at the bridge and fetched him almost to the 
-depot,” returned Davis. “I didn’t think much at the 


IN PENNY LANE 


199 


time, but afterwards I seemed to remember how both his 
jacket pockets were full of money, coppers and nickels, I 
surmise, that jounced and jingled with the roll of the 
wagon. I stopped at the old Richardson place to deliver 
a loaf of bread and when I came out he was gone. Then 
I see him boarding a train for the West.” 

‘‘You mean East, don't you? There’s no west-bound 
train that stops here between noon and five o’clock,” said 
Mr. Langley. 

“This was the Albany express he got onto, sir. It 
slowed up and stopped and then went right on again. So 
that if I hadn’t seen some high cockalorum get off I 
should have had to say they stopped for this lad that 
wa’n’t bigger than a pint pot,” declared Davis. 

Mr. Langley couldn’t believe it was Joey, in spite of the 
checkered pantaloons. Why, Joey had never heard any- 
thing of Albany except that it was the capital of New 
York! 

“Did he have fair hair ?” he asked. 

“As white as an old man. And he spoke as old and 
wise as one when he did speak,” said the baker. 

Mr. Langley thanked him, promised to come in the 
next time he was in Wenham, and went out. He felt all 
at sea. He couldn’t understand Joe’s going to Albany 
and could hardly believe it. He still felt that Bell must 
have been right. And yet, he could not do otherwise than 
go straight to Albany himself. 

Returning to the station, he was distressed to learn 
that there was no train until three in the morning. He 
spent two hours in telegraphing to Albany without getting 
any results. Then he went up to the hotel and waited 
for train time. 


200 


THE NEWCOMER 


That was the hardest journey he had ever taken in his 
life. He knew no one in Albany, and he didn’t know, 
how to begin to make his search. Further, he felt sure he 
would be unsuccessful. But he must do what he could 
before he frightened Anna Miller by sending her word 
that Joe was lost. 


CHAPTER XLI 


TT did not surprise Joey at all to have a train come in 
* immediately upon his arrival at the station, and though 
the step was high, he had no trouble in getting on. He 
got on the car the gentleman left and was fortunate 
enough to find the door open. He slipped in unseen and 
got into the first seat he came to. It faced the door, while 
the others faced the direction in which the train was 
moving, and he had it all to himself. Not that he needed 
all the space, for he curled into a little ball of wretchedness 
at the farther end. 

After a little a man in the seat before him threw his 
overcoat over the back so that the little boy was sheltered 
by it as in a tent. And now he gave way to the tears that 
had been burning so painfully as he had kept them back 
ever since early morning. He cried so softly that no one 
would have heard him even if there hadn’t been the rumble 
of the train. But he was exhausted in a short time, and 
within half an hour he was asleep. 

He dreamed of going to call with his father upon Miss 
Penny, who had died while he was a baby, and of Bell’s 
coming in out of a baker’s cart and saying she had for- 
gotten what maximum meant and asking for a apothecary. 
As Joe strove to remember the word dictionary, which 
was what she wanted, he woke. He smiled to himself in 
the darkness and wondered how long it would be before 
he could get up and tell Bell of the funny dream. Then 
he thought of the Smiths’ clocks, and wondered if he 


201 


202 


THE NEWCOMER 


should hear the one in the entry strike five what time it 
would really be. Then, stretching out his feet, he 
realised that he had his boots on. Then he knew that he 
was dressed and remembered that he wasn’t his father’s 
little boy at all. He was — ah ! he was on the train flying 
away from Penny Lane and Bell and Monica! He was 
going back to his parents who might not be kind to him 
and who couldn’t possibly ever take the place of those he 
had left. 

Slipping out from beneath the overcoat and sitting up„ 
he saw that the train was lighted and that it was dark 
without. They must be approaching the city. He must 
be all ready to jump off the moment the train stopped, for 
they hardly waited at all, the engine was in such haste 
to tear on. Presently he thought he would ask someone 
when they would be likely to stop. 

Getting down, Joe glanced anxiously along the aisle of 
the car, scrutinising the people on both sides. His eyes 
fell upon a young man sitting alone who made him think 
of Uncle Reuben. Joey had always thought Uncle Reuben 
wonderful. Ruddy thought he was cross, but Buddy, 
who hardly ever disagreed with his twin sister, didn’t, 
and Joe’s father just loved him, and he had known him 
ever since Uncle Reuben was born. One who looked like 
him would be likely to be kind, and Joe decided to ask 
his question of this young man. He stole up to his seat 
and said “Please, sir!” as boys did in books when they 
wished to ask a favour. But the rumble of the train 
swallowed up the small voice. Somehow, Joe hadn’t the 
courage to try again. He slipped into the seat beside him 
and waited until the young man should turn from the 
window. 


IN PENNY LANE 


203 


As it happened the young man, whose name was Dick 
Burden, was also running away. He was a college 
student, or had been, for he hadn’t done any studying for 
weeks. Therefore, he had failed in his examinations and 
had been forbidden to play in the foot-ball game that was 
to occur the next day. In his rage, Dick had decided to 
go West and become a cowboy. He was now on his way 
to Buffalo. 

He was trying to calculate how far his money would 
take him when a slight movement at his side caused him 
to turn. He started violently. The oddest little figure he 
had ever seen was perched on the seat beside him. A 
quaint looking little boy, very small and thin, with hair 
like that of an old man and a sad little face that was also 
old, wearing, under his reefer, a checked suit and a wide 
white collar and looking as if he had stepped out of a 
Kate Greenaway book, turned to him apologetically. 

*T didn’t mean to scare you, sir,” he said politely. 

Dick laughed. * ‘Where in the world did you come 
from, brother?” he asked. 

“I was in the back seat. I fell asleep and I don’t know 
how long I stayed. I just wanted to ask you if we are 
anywhere near the city?” 

“The city? What city? Do you mean Albany or 
Buffalo?” 

“Not either one. Just the city,” said Joe gently. 

“You’re not traveling alone?” asked Dick as it came 
suddenly into his head. 

“Yes, sir, I had to. I hope there’s no mistake,” said 
Joe anxiously. “I thought the train just went on till it 
came to the city and then stopped and went back. Doesn’t 
it?” 


204 


THE NEWCOMER 


“But, brother, there's more than one city, you see." 

“Oh, is there!" said Joe in dismay. Then his face 
brightened. “I mean the one where Anna lives — ^Anna 
Miller," he said. 

“Oh," murmured the other. 

“You know Anna Miller?" Joe asked. 

“Tm afraid I don’t." 

“Oh, dear, I thought everybody knew Anna. She has 
beautiful yellow hair, all little wrinkles and gleaming, and 
pink cheeks and the loveliest smiles. Are you quite sure 
you haven’t seen her?” Joe asked wistfully. 

“I don’t believe I have. It sounds as if she were a 
stunner, though," said Dick Burden. “What’s she doing 
in the city? Is she at boarding school?" 

“She’s studying singing though she sings just won- 
derfully now." 

“I see. Then the city must be Boston or New York, I 
fancy." 

“You put New York, N. Y., on her letters,” said Joe. 

“Then New York’s the city where you are bound," 
declared Dick. 

“Are we almost there ?’’ 

“Well, no, I can’t say we are," returned Dick in a 
troubled tone. “We have some time before us before 
we get anywhere, so we’d better talk things over. My 
name is Dick Burden. What’s yours?" 

“Mine is Joe — ^just Joe." 

“Well, Joe, why are you traveling alone, and why do 
you want to go to the city?" asked Dick. 

“I’m alone because — it’s a secret I am going anywhere. 
And I’m going to the city to see Anna Miller and get her 



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Well, Joe, . . . 


why do you want to go to the city?” 



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IN PENNY LANE 


205 


to help me. I think she knows where my parents are. 
They are — sort of lost,” Joe said. 

Dick Burden was greatly puzzled. The little boy didn’t 
look like a waif. He was well dressed and well bred. 
He looked as if he had always had good care and his 
pockets were weighed down with coins. But he didn’t 
seem like a runaway child. He spoke like the little old 
man he looked and one couldn’t help respecting him and 
treating him as an equal. Dick didn’t know what he 
ought to do, but he knew he ought to do something. He 
began to question Joe about Anna Miller’s whereabouts. 
But the little boy did not remember anything else that 
went on her letters except Miss. 

Dick sighed. “Well, we’ll have to think it over,” he 
said. “And Joe, I’ll have to tell you what you must have 
done. You said the train went to the city, turned around 
and came back. Well, so it does, but you caught it as it 
was coming back instead of as it was going, so you 


Joe clasped his hands in agony. 

“Do you mean we are going away from the city fast as 
this?” he cried. “Oh, beg them to stop so I can get off.” 

“We’ll get off together as soon as they stop,” said Dick 
kindly. “And we’ll wait together and then take the next 
train right back to the city and somehow or other we’ll 
find Anna Miller.” 

“Oh, they’ll all know Anna in the city,” said Joe. 
“She’s been there ever since September.” 

“We’ll find her, sure. What’s this ! Here’s the peanut 
boy. Let’s have something to eat 1” 

Joe moved up closer. “I can’t eat,” he whispered. “I 
can’t swallow. My throat — sort of aches.” 


206 


THE NEWCOMER 


Dick Burden took the little fellow into his arms and 
hugged him close. ‘T understand, old chap,’* he said. 
“But everything will be all o. k. to-morrow. We can’t see 
out of the window, but let’s pull off your reefer and I’ll 
tell you about the guinea pigs I had when I was a little 
fellow.” 


CHAPTER XLII 


J OE was asleep when they reached Albany, but Dick 
Burden carried him off the train and to a hotel where 
he took a room. The young man knew that if he turned 
back he must give up his western trip and go back to col- 
lege, but he made his decision cheerfully. 

They had supper together in the big dining-room, Dick 
feeling very old and important as he ordered bread and 
milk for the little fellow and very happy when Joe ate half 
of his bowlful. Dick put him to bed and sat beside him 
until Joe seemed to be asleep. And after he had gone to 
bed and heard him crying, he drew Joe to him and pressed 
him close until the little boy really slept. Early in the 
morning they took a train for New York. 

On the way, Dick Burden exerted himself as he had 
perhaps never done before to amuse and divert his odd 
little companion and he was as happy, certainly, as he 
had ever been when the little boy began to respond. Dick 
enjoyed his old, wise comments upon the scenery and upon 
bits of school life that came to his mind in connection 
with them, but as they drew near the city, he felt greatly 
perplexed. He questioned Joe further about Anna Miller, 
but only learned further of her charms. 

‘Ts she at some school studying singing, do you think?’* 
he asked finally. 

‘Tt might be, because she has a teacher,” said Joe. 

‘T don’t suppose you know the teacher’s name?” 

“Yes, I do. Anna told me to make me laugh when I 


208 


THE NEWCOMER 


felt so badly because she was going. It's Mr. S. Bird. 
It might mean Song Bird, Anna said, only really it’s 
Sebastian.” 

“Hooray! Sebastian Bird! He’ll be in the directory, 
sure pop !” cried Dick Burden. “We’ll find him and then 
he’ll have his pupil’s address. And then we’ll all live 
happy ever after, that is, part of us will. I won’t be 
very happy, for I’ll lose my little pal and I’ll have to go 
back to college and plug.” 

“I won’t be so very happy myself,” said Joe, “but I 
will have nice things to think of to comfort me. Some- 
one I love best of everyone in the world will always be 
safe and pleecemen will never come near him and — ^well, 
you have to do a thing if it’s right, don’t you, Dick?” 

“You have to if you’re made of the right stuff, old 
man,” returned Dick. And he said to himself that if 
Anna Miller wasn’t all that the boy seemed to think her, 
he would take him back to college and keep him himself. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


T^UT she was. It wasn’t at all difficult finding Anna 
Miller, either. Dick found Sebastian Bird, teacher 
of vocal music, in the directory and got Miss Miller’s 
address from him. They could have got more, if they 
had been willing to wait, and as it was they learned that 
she was his best pupil and had the loveliest voice of any 
one Sebastian Bird had ever taught. At dusk they were 
waiting in the parlour of a boarding-house. 

Just as Dick Burden was saying to himself that even 
if she was a wonderful singer, this Anna Miller might not 
have any sense and might scold the little chap, he heard a 
light step and saw Joe rushing into the arms of the 
prettiest girl he had even seen in his life. He couldn’t 
even remember seeing a girl on a magazine cover who 
was quite so lovely. He sprang to his feet. 

He decided that she was as lovely as she looked and 
that the little boy was in luck. But that was afterwards. 
Now suddenly she turned white. 

‘‘Dear me, what has happened ? Oh, Joe, your father ? 
Is anything wrong?” 

‘‘Father’s well, Anna, and so is everybody,” said Joe 
quickly. “But something is wrong, and that’s why I 
came. But I should have been lost only this nice big boy 
who is Dick Burden, Anna, came way back with me and 
wouldn’t let me spend my money at all.” 

Anna shook hands with the young man. “I’m ever so 


209 


210 


THE NEWCOMER 


glad to meet you, Mr. Burden. Please sit down and let^s 
see if we can^t straighten out things,” she said. 

She took Joe in her lap. 

‘‘Joey, how did your father happen to let you come 
so far from home?” she asked. 

“He didn't know, Anna.” 

“Dear me ! And when did you leave home .^” 

“Yesterday after dinner.” 

Again Anna became pale. But after a moment, she 
turned to the stranger. 

“Would you please go out and send a telegram for me?” 
she asked. “There’s an office at the hotel at the corner 
of the street. Then come back and we’ll talk everything 
over.” 

She wrote a message to -Mr. Langley saying that Joe 
was with her. While Dick Burden was out, Joe made his 
explanation, which Anna grasped very quickly. As the 
young man returned, she was about to make her explana- 
tion to the little boy. Dick told her how he had come to 
be with Joe, and she felt he had earned the right to remain 
and hear. But first she explained about Joe’s leaving his 
home. 

“Now, Joey, boy, this is how it really was,” she began. 
“Mr. and Mrs. Langley aren’t your real parents, but they 
are just the same, for they have had you ever since you 
were a baby and longer back than you can remember. 
Your own father died when you were only a few months 
old and your mother less than a year later. They were 
dear friends of mine, and I took you home with me. But 
Mr. and Mrs. Langley were very, very lonely. They had 
lost a baby more than twenty years earlier and the par- 
sonage had always seemed empty to them since. I hated 


IN PENNY LANE 


211 


to part with you, darling, but they seemed to need you 
more, and I knew you would have a better home with 
them, so I gave you up and they adopted you as their own. 
That crazy little Essie got the story twisted, though per- 
haps it y/asn’t her fault. This is where she must have 
got the story of your being stolen. You were going to 
father and mother as a Christmas present, but the day 
before, my brothers had you out in a perambulator and 
left you alone, and when they came to look for you you 
weren^t there. We couldn^t find you for a few hours and 
my father feared you were stolen — ^kidnapped. The truth 
was that Mrs. Langley, your mother, came along and 
found you alone in the carriage and picked you up and 
carried you away so that you wouldn’t be run over when 
the stage came. She was only taking her own, you see, 
darling.” 

‘T see, Anna I” cried Joe happily, ‘‘Oh, I see it all 1” 


CHAPTER XLIV 


M r. LANGLEY reached Albany not long after Joe 
left the city with Dick Burden. He telegraphed to 
Mr. Smith, in case he should receive any tidings of the 
lost child, and sent a message to Reuben Cartwright ask- 
ing him to send someone from the theological department 
of the university to preach for him on Sunday at Far- 
leigh. But he sent no word to Anna Miller. He thought 
he would not frighten her unnecessarily but would await 
the result of his search in Albany. 

He spent a long, hard day without getting any clew at 
all. Returning to his hotel, disheartened, he asked at the 
office if there was any message for him and turned white 
when a telegram was put into his hand. But when he 
read it, he could scarcely refrain from shouting for joy, 
quiet man though he was. For it was from Mr. Smith 
and said that Anna Miller had telegraphed that Joe was 
with her in New York. 

He paid his bill, rushed to his room, threw his things 
into his traveling bag and was driven to the station where 
he just caught his train. Seated in the car, bound for 
New York, he wondered if there were a happier man in 
the train than he. 

Quite likely there wasn’t. But a yet happier man sat 
next morning in the parlour of a boarding house in New 
York with Joey in his arms. And late that afternoon, 
when he and Joe sat in the parlour of the parsonage at 
Farleigh with Mrs. Langley, Bell, the Smiths and Monica, 


212 


IN PENNY LANE 


213 


it would have been hard to determine who was happiest. 

Joe’s heart seemed to be almost bursting as he looked 
from one beloved face to another and realised that he was 
home ‘‘for good” and that he belonged there. No one 
saw him start as he glanced towards the window in the 
early dusk. And no one else saw a forlorn little face 
pressed against the pane as Essie Lee gazed in upon the 
scene. Joe slipped down and ran out to her. 

Now she was leaning against the house, her face hidden. 

“Essie,” said Joe softly, “if you are crying, please 
don’t. Everything’s all right now.” 

Essie turned a tearful face upon him. 

“Oh, Joey, I feel like a murderer. I have ever since 
you went away,” she sobbed. “I guess you’ll never speak 
to me again?” 

“I’m speaking now,” he said. “And if you are so sorry 
that you cry like this, why — ^nobody could ask more, 
Essie.” 

Essie drew him round to the porch and pointed out 
something large and spherical which Joe didn’t recog- 
nise in the dusk. 

“It’s a globe of the earth with the Eastern and Western 
hemisphere and all the continents and islands and oceans 
and everything,” she said breathlessly. “I spent all my 
Christmas money on it and the money your mother gave 
me for a reward and Ruthy put hers in too, — she wanted 
to. I knew you liked such things better than toys and 
candy, Joey, and so I bought it for you as soon as I knew 
you weren’t dead. If you had died, I should have spent it 
all for flowers for your grave. Will you take it to keep, 
Joey, please?” 

‘‘Oh, Essie, of course I will, and I will enjoy it more 


214 


THE NEWCOMER 


than most anything I could think of. I have wanted one 
for years and years. Come on in and show it to father, 
and Bell will be even more surprised,” said Joe eagerly. 
But Essie hung back. 

‘‘Oh, Joey, I can’t. I can’t ever look into your father’s 
face again,” she cried. 

“But you know you’ll have to, Sundays at church, Essie. 
And if you don’t mind me, why do you mind him. Isn’t 
he better than me, Essie ?” asked Joe. 

“He may be some better, but he isn’t much,” declared 
Essie warmly. “And I’ll go in with you Joey, if you’ll 
hold my hand tight and whisper in your father’s ear that 
I am sorry and didn’t mean to at all.” 







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